#and then he gets close to other actors and suddenly he's looming over them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phanfictioncatalogue · 10 months ago

Text

Completed Chaptered AU Fics (2) Masterlist

part one

88 keys (ao3) - bluessunset

Summary: After years of saving up his money and asking his parents, Dan Howell finally has a chance to attend a boarding school for musical arts. The only thing he dreamed of for years. But the experience is a lot more than he imagined it to be.

a night to remember (ao3) - tinyalligaytor

Summary: roxie, who prefers the label exotic performer over stripper, is a star amongst people who are out when the sun goes down. who better for a close-minded phil who has despised what he labels as lowlifes to suddenly obsess over than Roxie himself?

aka the one where phil gets pathetically hung up on dan, better known as roxie and is desperate to get to know him better.

A Rose of Winter (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

Between The Lines (ao3) - Koolhotsweetloveberries

Summary: Attorney Dan Howell is faced with winning an impossible case or loosing his job.

All evidence points towards his client being guilty. Except for critical evidence provided by Forensic Linguist, Phil Lester.

The man Dan turned down a year ago.

Dan the Personal Assistant (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Dan has to submit an application video to be an assistant for a company President, Mr. Lester. But what happens when he accidentally sends a wrong video?

Forever Frozen Still (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil is a wedding photographer, capturing the beauty of people’s weddings day after day even if it’s beginning to wear a little thin. Then he meets Dan, a cynical and irritating wedding planner who doesn’t believe in love and finally, he finds something that inspires him.

hooked (on you) (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Rentboy AU. Dan is a hooker trying to make it on his own in Manchester. Phil is his customer who ends up becoming more involved than he expected. What started out as a business transaction ends up being something neither of them anticipated.

I Fell For You (ao3) - TheWolfWithinMe

Summary: Thrown out of Heaven, Dan walks the streets of London, caring about nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except a blue eyed, black haired boy standing on the edge of a rooftop. Angel!Dan Suicidal!Phil

In My Way (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: Daniel Howell is 21 and Britain’s newest star. He’s just been cast in the much-anticipated film adaption of Last Man Standing, the popular teen fantasy novel with a huge fanbase hanging off his every tweet. In other words, Dan has made it big.

Phil Lester couldn’t care less. He’s a stressed out PHD student working part time at a bookshop while he struggles to get into post-production. He’s 26 and still lives in a tiny flat on the fifth floor of a building with a lift more broken than it is in use. He loves books, but he thinks big film adaptions screw with the plot too much.

Needless to say, Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor Daniel Howell.

Just Like Magic (ao3) - waylesssad

Summary: There is a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

My Spirit Love (ao3) - MySecretsX

Summary: If you fall in love with a spirit who drains you both away, do you live together for twenty years, or stay alone each day?

Phil has lived in his house since he was born, but it was when he turned seven he met Dan for the first time. It's all childish games and the muse of a naïve brain until your fifteen-year-old son claims to have fallen in love with the boy you've never seen.

Is anything possible for love?

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

Sidetracked (ao3) - phanimist

Summary: Dan and Phil are both contestants on ‘The Bachelorette’, but fall in love with each other instead of the girl.

Siren Call (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Beware of the siren’s call, they tell you.

Dan had heard enough horror stories about sirens to be thoroughly terrified. He never wanted to go near the water, but as fate would have it, Dan’s father had to sign him up for on a merchant’s ship bound for the siren’s passage. Dan had a sinking feeling that he was not going to survive an encounter with one of the deadly predators. Those touched by the siren’s kiss were bound to drown. Except… it doesn’t go quite like that.

The Canary (ao3) - galaxy_ash

Summary: Dan is a famous singer called The Capricious Canary, but known as The Canary by his fans and the public. Phil is a paparazzo who hates his job and is assigned to stalk Dan to get insider pictures.

To Dwell on Dreams (ao3) - carltzmann

Summary: “Taking in the whole image, though, it hardly hurt. Watching this perfect version of himself smile and wave and talk to his friends, bathing in success and appreciation, Dan suddenly started to believe that maybe all that was possible, even with the confirmation of a terrifying secret.”

Dan and Phil meet at the Mirror of Erised.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

where we belong (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: “Only you,” Martyn says.

“Only me what?”

“Only you could end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a gay author who writes gay books. Jesus Christ, Phil.”

In which Phil is snowed in with nobody but the mysterious dark haired author next door for company.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #au masterlist #completedchaptered

11 notes · View notes

missiletoe · 7 months ago

Text

very backlogged on the ao3 comments, thank u everyone for commenting <3 and will get around to answering them at some point o7 (hopefully this weekend, maybe next though)

have some more kittyuri in the meantime for the yuri shipping olympics!! i also cooked another kittyuri last night that i will formally link on tumblr at some point and i have an alien stage crack fic actor AU that is literally 99% done but i have been putting off edits for a week now so stay tuned!!

Prompt: “The two of you look cute together. I think you should go for it.” “That’s not what I meant!” “My point still stands.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Q!” Kitty screams at the top of her lungs. There’s the sound of boxes falling in the distance. “IT’S AN EMERGENCY!”

Q comes barreling out of the bedroom and sticks the landing on Minho’s new shipment of Ultra-Rare-Hygienic-Made-From-Fairy-Tears-Probably skincare products. Thank god she won’t be around for the aftermath.

“Good morning, Kitty,” Q says as the afternoon sun beats down on him through the window. His pants are on backwards and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Kitty screams because she thinks that’s the best way to express the news. Q jumps a foot in the air in response.

“Yuri asked me out!” she shrieks.

“The two of you look cute together. I think you should go for it.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“My point still stands. Okay, slow down.” Q mimics deep breaths like they’re in a grade-school level health class. Kitty doesn’t like the sarcasm but appreciates the gesture. “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

“I-I don’t know,” she replies, rolling her wrist. “We were just talking and I think I told her she was pretty or something–I mean, she’s always pretty, it’s like saying the grass is green or the sky is blue, did you know the other day–”

“Kitty.”

“Right. Staying on track! I don’t know, it was all out of the blue and then she laughed and she looked at me and it was like one of those slo-mo shots in a romcom and she asked if I wanted to go out with her and I asked her where and then she said no, silly, do you want to be my girlfriend and then I panicked.”

Q closes his eyes slowly like he’s been slapped across the face.

“Okay, that was a lot but that’s good! When did this happen? And where?”

Kitty glances quickly at the door. Q groans and slaps one hand over his forehead.

“Kitty, you didn’t.”

She gives a garbled noise of protest in response.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Ukrainian. What I’m sure you’re trying to say though is that you definitely did not slam the door in Yuri’s face after she confessed to you–especially after I had to struggle through a year of watching you hopelessly pine, right?”

“Actually, I asked her for 1-3 business days to think about it.”

“KITTY!”

“Can’t you frame it in a more positive light?” she hisses. Now that Q’s pointed out the door, she’s hyper-aware of it–or more accurately, what’s behind it.

“There is no light that can save this situation!” Q yells back. Wonderful, the whole floor’s probably heard the news by now. Kitty Song Covey is a bisexual disaster who doesn’t have a single thing right in her life–not her grades, not her understanding of her culture and definitely not her love life.

“It’s fine.” Q’s pacing now and it’s not a good pacing. It’s more of an anxious stomping that looks like it’s gonna leave dents in the carpet. “It’s fine! Yuri’s spent a year with you. She knows what you’re like and she still asked you out, which means she likes you for you and I’m sure that slamming a door in her face won’t change that.” They both stare at the dorm door that suddenly looks like it’s looming over the room. “I hope.”

“Okay, moving on. Why didn’t you say yes? You’re clearly crazy about Yuri. And Yuri’s apparently just as crazy about you.”

“I don’t know, Q.” Kitty pushes aside a notebook to make room for her to sit on the counter. It’s probably Minho’s. It makes her feel less bad about the way it falls into the sink. “It’s been a year and I still don’t know if I’m gay or bi or pan or… something else entirely!” Kitty slaps a fat stack of paper on the dining table for emphasis–a physical copy of the Lesbian Masterdoc, courtesy of one crappy KISS Academy printer. “I don’t even know if I like girls! I mean, Yuri’s the only girl that I’ve ever felt like this about… I think?”

Q sticks one hand out into the Kitty-tornado swirling around him.

“Kitty, understanding your sexuality is a process. It’s not always a static thing–sometimes things happen and you learn something new about yourself. And sometimes, the thing you discover at the end of researching all these labels is that you don’t actually like any of them! And that’s totally fine. You don’t need every detail about yourself figured out before you jump into a relationship.”

Kitty blinks up at him wordlessly.

“Kitty, do you like Yuri?” Q asks, and it’s really more of a formality than anything. Kitty nods and thinks it doesn’t even come close to expressing her affection. “Then that’s really all you need.”

“Okay,” Kitty says as she pushes herself off the counter. She’s hopping from foot-to-foot like one of those boxers warming up in the ring before the fight. Q’s in the coach’s corner, hyping her up. “Okay, I can do this!”

Kitty flings open the door to a startled Yuri, still leaning against the wall from where Kitty left her 20 minutes ago.

“Yes, I’ll marry you! Ah, wait, no I meant I’ll go out with you! Please let me be your girlfriend, I promise I won’t mess up this much!” She’s half-sobbing by the end and Yuri nearly doubles over from laughter.

“Is she always like this?” she asks Q.

“You know it.”

“I do.” Yuri looks up at her and there’s that smile again that makes the world melt away. “It’s what I like about her.”

#xo kitty #yuri han #kitty song covey #kitty x yuri #yuri x kitty #kittyuri #catglass

6 notes · View notes

queenburd · 1 year ago

Note

You should do... 'how are you so good at kissing?' :>

Stanley's made it his mission to snog him in every damn ending--no, more likely every damn part of the map. (He's not complaining.)

Boss's office was an obvious one, and so was the Bucket Apartment. Stanley had corralled him up onto the desk, onto the counter, and had teased his mouth open, the sound of it wet and nearly obscene. He'd not been able to do much more than hold on for dear life while the man tilted his head this way and that and made his head spin. The Narrator doesn't need to breathe (neither of them do), but it's always as though Stanley's trying to steal the very breath out of his lungs, racketing his heartbeat faster and faster.

The weirder ones, like the insanity ending and the tapes (he refused to crawl into the vent, just despawned and respawned his model), he honestly didn't expect to be so--well.

He'd leaned against the table with the tape recorder, a brow raised, and Stanley had turned it off and then crowded up against him, hands on the table to keep him in place, and had kissed all over his face as he tried to get through the scripted insults. All the while the man had smiled, thoughts skimming like stones across a pond, [ real ] and [ warm ] and [ here ] and--

He'd finally broken script and sought out his protagonist's mouth moments before the reset suddenly hit. It hadn't been fair.

The insanity ending, that one had startled the Narrator. Before (before the kissing, before the warm desire, before), when he'd joined Stanley in this ending whilst wearing his model, Stanley had played up the dramatics to try to get him to crack. Mouthing along to the lines, pantomiming dramatically in all the right places, the actor in a silent play over-emoting to compensate for the lack of audio.

Trying to get him to laugh, of course, to add new delightful memories.

But this run, the Narrator had gotten as far as, "Why is there a voice in my head, dictating everything that I'm doing and thinking?" when Stanley had stopped walking through the loop of doors altogether.

Stopped, and looked at him, eyes lidded, face smooth and unreadable.

The Narrator had swallowed, and continued. "Now the voice was describing itself being considered by Stanley, who found it particularly strange. I'm dreaming about a voice describing me thinking about how it's describing my thoughts, he thought!" He had tried to keep his voice steady and had resisted the urge to step back when Stanley had approached him, silent, with a grace like a predator. The protagonist loomed above him, watching, brow raising minutely with each stumble and stutter.

"H-He would prove it. He would prove that he was in control, that this was a dream." Stanley met his gaze evenly, like a challenge. Without confidence, the Narrator tilted his head up in response. "So he closed his eyes gently, and he invited himself to wake up."

Stanley closed his eyes. The Narrator mimicked him, feeling his shoulders relax now that that gaze was not fixed on him. His voice steadied. "He felt the cool weight of the blanket on his skin, the press of the mattress on his back, the--mm!"

The mouth on his was gentle, probably in apology for surprising him. The hand on his cheek soothed and grounded him, when he finally opened his eyes. Stanley's other hand was pressed to his shoulder, keeping him in place, and he kissed like he knew he was about to die and just wanted this one last thing.

God, that's exactly what this was.

The Narrator moaned into his mouth, desperation coloring his push back into Stanley, because, god, he didn't like the death endings, and now they were doing this, and Stanley was--

Going to die, Stanley was kissing him like Romeo kissed Juliet in the moments before he killed himself, knowing what was coming, ever a performer fully enveloped in his role--

And then, Stanley was out of his arms, on the ground, and the Narrator stood beside Mariella's model, staring.

"How are you so good at this?" he asked the body on the ground a little brokenly. It did not respond to him. "You have as much experience with kissing as I do, why are you so much better--"

THEENDISNEVERTHENDISNEVERTHEENDISLOADING

Stanley stood up from his desk and pressed the Narrator against door 430, nose pressed into his neck in apology. There was guilt in how he hid his face, but the Narrator sighed simply and lay a hand at the nape of his neck to keep him close.

"You're not getting an achievement for this, you know," he mumbled. "I'm not making an achievement just for managing to make out in every room in the office, you don't get a reward for collecting all the kisses."

There was a little snort, and a peck of a kiss to his throat. When Stanley pulled away, he took his Narrator's hand and held it all the way to the Freedom ending, and then kissed him long and sweet as the doors opened to the great big skybox.

#may writes #the sparrow parable #this got a lil away from me

10 notes · View notes

strangeparticles · 8 years ago

Photo

Adrian Scarborough, David Tennant and Gawn Grainger in Don Juan in Soho, Wyndham’s Theatre, 2017.

#don juan in soho #adrian scarborough #gawn grainger #david tennant #how is he so tall #he never really looks especially tall #even on stage #and then he gets close to other actors and suddenly he's looming over them #it's like some kind of special effect #i think he just doesn't move like a tall person?

73 notes · View notes

phykios · 3 years ago

Text

honesty and promise me, part 10 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

“If you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to leave you my keys.”

Annabeth looks at Piper from behind the loom, glaring through the threads. “Then you won’t come back to ten bolts of fabric.”

In fairness, it was sort of an empty threat. Piper has all the good stuff: the surger, the embroidery machine, the industrial sewing machines, plus a million sources for fabric that aren’t Annabeth’s stress weaving. Annabeth only has her own shitty sewing machine at home that she’d gotten for Christmas when she was fourteen.

Also, Piper wouldn’t actually lock her out. She needs those fabrics.

“Why don’t you just not go?” Annabeth says. “If you stay, I promise to tell you all the gritty details.” She’s joking, but the second she says it, she’s hit with a strange wave of desperation.

She wants to tell Piper all the gritty details. How she had giggled and smoozed and looked so pretty on Luke’s arm, tattoos and undercut and everything else so carefully concealed. She never wanted to tell Thalia the gritty details. The dirty ones, sure, particularly when the dirty things didn’t involve Thalia’s beloved younger cousin. But she had spent two years, two hard painful years, hiding vast swaths of herself from Thalia.

She thought of the night of the gala, of Thalia telling her family she knew Luke from college. NYU. They’d been actors together.

Annabeth hadn’t been the only one hiding things.

It had stung, in all sorts of ways.

Piper stares, narrowing her eyes. “How dare you tempt me into giving up my creative retreat for gossip.”

Annabeth shrugs. “It’s one or the other.”

The glare at each other, stubborn as all hell.

Piper throws up her hands. “Fine. Just make my fabric and call Leo if you’re having another crisis.”

The truth is, she will tell Piper. Eventually. She knows she will. It will probably be in eight months, when she gets back, when hopefully the shame of her false life and the devastation of losing Percy has lessened, but she will tell her. But eight months is a long time. “I do have other friends, you know.”

“Then call Luke. Or Thalia.”

It takes absolutely everything Annabeth has not to wince at the names.

She would never have told Thalia. Not really. Even things like this, even if it hadn’t involved her. Thalia wasn’t… good at relationship stuff. Not like Piper. And she never knew all of Annabeth’s romantic history--not like Piper did, anyway.

And it wasn’t just romantic relationships.

Annabeth might have been able to share her pain, and share her pain with Thalia, but it had, in many ways, only been a surface level thing. Thalia saw her pain after Annabeth’s mom had rescinded her approval of her life, but she'd taken Annabeth’s silence as the end of the matter, and responded to it by acting out, and arguably drinking too much.

But they never talked about her mother. They never talked about Thalia’s, either, and if there was something Annabeth learned from Hazel’s gala beyond how unfairly handsome Percy was going to look in thirty years, it was that there was a lot going on there.

It is a little hurtful on reflection. Making her feel less close to Thalia, but also less guilty about what she never said. And less willing to accept her reactions.

Her emotions have been all over the place the last few weeks.

Piper notices, because of course Piper notices, but she is an angel, and has known her for a long time, so she doesn’t badger her too much. She also doesn’t mention that Annabeth’s measurements all seem to be off. Not even to say something about beauty at every size or her well publicized efforts for diverse bodies in fashion.

But it was still nice to spend time with her. It felt like the old days, staying up too late making the next thing in fashion, and then passing out together, surrounded by bobbins and bagels, Gossip Girl playing on TV.

It did make Piper’s impending departure that much harder, though.

Two weeks into November, she meets Piper and Leo for dinner, and then sees Piper off to JFK for her eight-month creativity retreat in Oklahoma. “You know, like how you decided you couldn’t have a doorman for creative reasons,” she’d said with a raised eyebrow when Annabeth had questioned the move. Piper likes to treat the last two years of Annabeth’s life like some sort of creative exercise. Her dad had done that too, once, when she bothered to answer his call.

Not that she’s not doing anything other than helping Piper pick stitches, and sewing hemlines Piper is too important to deal with herself. She wishes that earlier estimation had been true.

Since the gala she’s been living on Uber Eats at Piper’s, unless she gets bullied home, in which case it's the same but less varied selection with more meat, so the night out with Piper and Leo the night before Piper’s flight feels like a radical departure from the norm. Even though they just go to dinner.

Which does not stop her from feeling hungover the next morning.

“You had half a glass of wine last night,” Leo points out from the door of her bathroom.

“I remember,” she agrees when it lets up for a moment.

“If you get me sick,” he says, “I’m sending you the doctor's bill.”

“Fair,” she chokes out.

Leo doesn’t hug her goodbye, but he does tell her he hopes she gets better before heading back to Boston.

Annabeth, hugging porcelain, wishes she could go with him.

She was very seriously considering it a few days later. Magnus would take pity on her and Alex was always fun to hang out with. Plus, they’d probably think she was too pathetic to be called on her shit. She only did not make plans to go up to Boston because on Wednesday Luke texted her: Already a shit week, brunch this weekend? And she knew if she ran off to Boston, she wouldn’t leave Magnus and Alex’s guest room until they forced the issue.

But it would be nice to talk to someone in New York City who doesn’t hate her guts, she thought.

So, on Sunday morning, she throws up the wonton soup she’d ordered in for dinner the night before, gurgles some mouthwash, uses the expensive concealer to hide the dark circles, and over does the mascara in hopes that she mostly looks awake.

“You look terrible,” are the first words Luke says to her.

“You have no idea how to talk to women,” she says, slumping down across from him.

“I do,” Luke says, “I just know not to bother with you.” But he frowns at her, taking her in. She’s broken out a Chanel jacket, but she isn’t sure when she last washed these jeans. A real winning combo, her.

“But really,” Luke says, “you look miserable. Is it about what happened on Halloween?”

She shrugs. It isn’t not that. Percy’s words still circle through her head, his sad, defeated face as he bemoaned the, how did he put it? All the rich girls who fucked him to make a point. Made all the worse because she believes them. Probably not the same points as those princesses, but… probably not as different as she would like.

She wonders if Europe is full of very wealthy aristocratic women who are all secretly and shamefully still in love with Percy Jackson. And Frank Zhang.

It makes her feel hollow and nauseous all at once.

But she’s been feeling nauseous for weeks now, so at least it's not a new feeling. If it keeps up, she’s going to have to go to the doctor soon.

She hates going to the doctor. It feels like cheating when she just goes and pays and knows other people can’t. She had once lied to Thalia about getting money for a side gig, and then given her two hundred bucks for a trip to the clinic. Now that Annabeth has spent many hours in his cousin’s apartment, and has heard Nico talk about his yearly income on top of the money his dad gives him, she’s not sure how it came down to her.

“Not really,” Annabeth says, “I mean, I still feel just as terrible, but that’s mostly the problem. I feel sick.”

“It's been three weeks.” Luke looks genuinely concerned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m exhausted and nauseous all the time,” she says, groaning at the thought. She was okay right at this moment, but she knew it could come back at the drop of a hat.

Luke frowned at her. “That’s all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I mean…” He looked at her, his eyes gazing lower, to her body. Luke had never really come on to her in any kind of real way. But she’s not sure he’s ever looked at her with less lust than he does right at that moment.

It is calculating. She’s gained some weight, she knows. But if Luke points it out, she’s going to kick him in the nuts with her steel toed boots. Or maybe make him explain himself and his relationship with Thalia.

“Annabeth,” Luke says, his voice lower, a frown on his face, “please don’t freak out.”

She can feel her heart pick up, just a bit. “That’s a terrible place to start.”

“Have you been feeling… emotionally volatile lately? Having a lot of mood swings?”

She frowns. She’d maybe been crying a little more than normal at sentimental hulu ads, but she always has a soft touch for that kind of thing, and she’s going through some stuff. “I don’t think you should ask a woman that.”

“You are really not going to like my next question, then.” He leans close and says, “Are your… breasts tender?”

“You’re right, I don’t like that question,” Annabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest. Even though they are. “I don’t know why you thought that, and how you knew.”

Luke looks at her with such pity, she feels like she’s suddenly eighteen years old again, and crying on his couch at the end of freshman year about the greatest heartbreak of her life. (It had moved to second place. Lucky it. The boy in that bar had only been theoretical, mostly.)

Luke reaches out, grasping one of her hands, and for a second, Annabeth is sure he is going to tell her that she’s dying.

“Have you considered you might be pregnant?”

She yanks her hand away. “I can’t be pregnant,” she says. “I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Have you had your period since then?” Luke asks.

“Not that it's any of your business,” she says, “but I haven’t had one in years.” They do talk about sex sometimes, but periods had long been off the Luke table.

Luke grimaces. “Well, you’ve been sexually active recently…”

“It’s been more than a month!”

“When did you start getting morning sickness?” Luke asks “You were throwing up at Halloween.”

“That wasn’t in the morning,” she snaps, “and I feel fine now.”

“You know morning sickness doesn’t just happen in the morning,” Luke says. “And with the rest of your symptoms, well--”

She shakes her head, glaring at Luke. His judgement would have been better than his patient mansplaining. “You think I don’t use birth control?”

Luke shrugs a little. “I mean… you’re… not great at things like daily medication. That’s what happened last time. And if a condom broke or you didn’t use one…”

Last time. Oh, last time. Last time had been the worst four hours of her life, in between realizing that she hadn’t been remembering her birth control pills every day, that her period was a few days late, and that she’d definitely been having unprotected sex with that boy in Luke’s cohort who was probably too old for her. Last time had been her having a panic attack on Luke’s Cambridge apartment couch while a very reluctant Leo was sent to buy a pregnancy test or twelve, and Piper reassuring her via speaker phone that it would be ok, while Luke rubbed her back and reminded her to breathe.

“I do remember what happened last time,” she says. “That’s why I got an IUD. Which, if you don’t know, from all your girlfriends' pregnancy scares, has the same failure rate as permanent sterilization, less than one percent. So…” So it would be okay. She couldn’t be pregnant. That’s why it had been okay for Percy and Annabeth to start fucking without a condom.

“When was the last time you got a new one?”

“August.” She says, thinking back. She was almost sure. “I remember because it was before the Eta thing--Leo called me to tell me about the ceremony while I was at the gyno.”

“So you were distracted and being a bad patient when they were trying to put it in?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

But she won’t give Luke, of all people, the satisfaction. “They are professionals. They should know what they’re doing, even if I was on the phone.”

Luke gives her his most disappointed dad face. It is worse than Annabeth’s own father. “You’re the one who always tells me I need to not make people’s jobs harder by being a bad client,” he quietly reminds her.

She fucking hates him.

But despite herself, she pulls out her phone, and begins googling misplaced IUDs and pregnancy.

They haven’t even ordered yet, but Luke is already standing up, probably based on the look on her face as she manages to fight through the dyslexia and figure out what it says. “Come on,” he says, helping her out of her chair, even though she’s not an invalid. She just might be pregnant.

She pushes that thought away as she follows Luke into a cab and then up to his apartment. He makes her some tea and hands her a banana while he goes to get her a pregnancy test, because Luke’s not quite shameless enough to have one at home. She waits for him in a living room straight out of American Psycho and reads up on IUD pregnancy complications online. Which she probably should not have done.

By the time Luke gets back, she is crying again. He’s gotten her 3 tests, which is very considerate of him, as she’s going to need them.

Walking into the bathroom, she’s shaking hard enough that she needs to brace herself on the wall. He lets her use the nice one off his bedroom, though it's not like she needs the jacuzzi tub.

When she’s done peeing, she sets a timer on her phone and sits on Luke’s bed. He tries to speak to her several times. She doesn’t respond.

It isn’t the longest ten minutes of her life, because the truth is, she knows.

She already knows.

When the alarm goes off, she shrugs off Luke’s arm and silently walks back into the bathroom.

Luke got a digital readout, because what else was he going to do. And so she looks at the little screen and just barely processes the word pregnant.

She doesn’t need to take the other tests. She doesn’t need confirmation or to be convinced.

She reaches down and pressed on her lower abdomen, lifting her shirt. She had noticed a slight change. But she’d also changed a lot of her daily routine lately, had eaten a lot more ice cream. Right now, she can’t see any kind of bump, not really, but she can see a shift. Something flat gone fuller.

Annabeth is pregnant.

Annabeth is pregnant with Percy’s baby.

Percy’s baby.

She bursts into tears all over again.

An eternity later, there is a knock on the door.

“Annabeth,” Luke calls, “can I come in?”

She manages to choke out a yes.

Luke finds her sitting on the edge of the tub. He looked at the test still sitting on the counter.

“Let me make a call,” he says, sitting next to her, resting a hand on her arm. “I know a doctor. He can get you a pill or maybe even see you if you need it. Probably today or tomorrow. We can get this all taken care of and then I’ll buy you ice cream and we can watch Legally Blonde, and you can complain about how it doesn’t accurately reflect the admissions process.”

Normally Annabeth would pre-complain, and point out that given Elle’s GPA, LSAT, and extracurricular activities, she would have been a shoe in for her program, and the movie was dismissive of her prior academic achievement. But she’s too busy parsing what Luke is saying.

He squeezes her hand in support. “It's going to be okay,” he says, sweetly.

“No.” She says. But not because it won’t be okay. “No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”

“It's okay,” Luke promises. “I would never judge you. And no one else would ever have to know. This isn’t something you have to do.”

“I know that,” Annabeth says. “I don’t have to do anything.” She detangles her hand from Luke’s and rests it on her stomach, where her uterus waits under her skin. “I want to do this.”

Luke looks at her hand. “Poseidon Olympianides’ son?” he asks. “That’s the father?”

She nods.

Blowing out a breath through his teeth, he sighs. “Well, you’ll be able to get some good child support out of him at least. That family is loaded.”

“Don’t say that,” she nearly screams, and Luke actually jerks back a little. “He doesn’t have any money. He’s his dad’s bastard kid,” she says, feeling a little bad about revealing his family history, but knowing that the word would spark something in Luke. “I don’t know if I’m even going to tell him.”

It feels like something cheap and shallow, trapping a man with a lie, then a baby.

She’s still crying and tentatively, Luke reaches out and wraps his arms around her, pulls her to him.

“Come on,” he says, pulling her up. “You still need ice cream and a movie.”

Annabeth cries. And she doesn’t fight him, but it feels so strange. Half way through her Caramel Sutra and the Legally Blonde proshot, she realizes what’s different.

For the first time since Percy walked out of her apartment without a good-bye kiss, Annabeth Chase is happy.

She’s pregnant with Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s going to have Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s not sure if she’s ever heard anything as wonderful in her entire life.

And if she’s going to be worthy of it, worthy of her baby, then she’s going to have to get her shit together.

#my fic #ballet au #pjo #pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #goooooooooooooooooooood morning all!

71 notes · View notes

halfway-happyyy · 4 years ago

Text

This piece was inspired by this lovely ask that I received an inexplicably long time ago: Seeing an intense and loving sex scene Alex just shot and it lowkey breaks your heart but you don’t show anything bc you don’t want him to get the wrong idea and think you don’t support him but he can tell you’re upset and now /his/ heart breaks bc he can tell you try SO hard not to break down in front of him all day long so he confronts you about it and you tell him everything and that you’re not angry just very sad and you can’t help it and you’re sorry and he shushes you and sweet sex ensues

fluffy smut ensues- enjoy, friends.

“Hi love,” A crewman on Alexander’s latest film, and the first friendly face she had come across since arriving on set, wrapped a free arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek lovingly. “Alright?” He asked.

“Alright,” She smiled and set her purse down by her feet. “How’ve you been Pete? Busy, I bet.”

Peter shrugged and removed the headset from his ears. “Absolutely. Always. You uh… chose an interesting day to visit us,” He remarked with a quirk of a wildly unkempt eyebrow.

“Oh?” She asked and craned above the heads of the scant crew in search of Alexander. “I was hoping to surprise him…”

Peter cleared his throat and cocked his head to the side, his expression uneasy. “They are about to film their second and final love scene of the shoot.”

She swallowed hard and settled back onto the balls of her feet, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest. Two options suddenly become apparent to her: she could cut and run; blame it on a forgotten zoom meeting, or a lunch date with an old friend in the same city. Alternatively, she could swallow back the nausea rising steadily in her throat and remain rooted to the spot. Both options left little room for pride and her cheeks flamed under that realization, and the burning set lights around her. “Oh, that’s alright.” She smiled, shyly.

“You sure?” Peter asked. “Georgia’s camp have asked for a closed set to maximize privacy, and the entire thing was choreographed this morning, so we’re hoping to squash it in as few takes a possible.”

She appreciated his honesty and the soft, protective tone of his voice immensely, but it did little to quell the nervousness that prickled at her unpleasantly. “Sounds great,” She muttered under her breath.

Someone called out to Peter and he rubbed a hand over the rounded curve of her shoulder, offered her up a reassuring smile. “In any regard, he has been waiting weeks to see you. Cannot stop talking about it. He’ll be over the moon that you’re here.” He offered her one last knowing look before wandering off in the direction of the disembodied voice.

She had known exactly what the script entailed before production on the film had even begun, so this could hardly have been a surprise, and yet inexplicably, she still felt blindsided by it.

She watched Alexander and his co-star enter the set, designed to look like a minimalist bedroom. Laughing and talking easily about something, as if they weren't just about to film a painfully intimate scene. Without warning, the lights around them dimmed almost to nil, and the film’s head spoke into a megaphone.

“Alright guys, here we go. We know what we’re about to be doing, we want total silence, let’s try and get this thing smashed in as few takes as possible, shall we?” A dismal murmur of agreement resounded throughout the crowd as the director counted down and shouted action.

She couldn’t make out what was being said between the two actors, but she watched them approach each other with a familiarity reserved only for two people who had grown to know each other in ways solely attributed to unforgiving hours on a movie set. She watched him approach her, watched a large, sure hand entwine itself into her golden tresses, watched him bend toward her, two pairs of lips locked in a dance only they knew. It was difficult to watch and not imagine the effect it was having on him, but a past conversation swam into her mind's eye, and aided in easing her trepidation the slightest bit.

“It's never how you think it's going to be kid,” He had assured over warming amber beers, in a quiet corner of their favourite pub a year ago. “It’s quite possibly the least sexy aspect of the job. And yes, it is intimate. How could it not be? But there are so many people watching you and- so many of them have differing opinions on how it should be performed…” He sighed, frustrated. “Once I know I'm doing one, I like to try and get it out of the way as soon as possible.” He read the uneasy look on her face like an open book and reached for her hand, squeezing it thrice across the marred wooden tabletop. “It's always been you, kid.”

As his co-star began to undress him, working deft fingers down the front buttons of his shirt, she pulled it away from his shoulders with an unreadable expression etched on her face. Towered above her, Alexander stood motionless as she worked the belt from his jeans, and shimmied the pants from his thighs until he was clad before her in only a pair of boxers. Unexpected laughter between the two of them. Light and airy and utterly unfamiliar, caused waves of nausea to swell in her belly and she forced herself a deep, steadying breath. A brief moment where the two kissed each other again, before he pulled away to begin removing her clothing. Anxiety getting the better of her, she dropped her gaze to the floor and bit down on the hollow of her cheek until she could taste the metallic brine of blood on her tongue. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply again, counting down from eight in her head and trying desperately not to spiral on the spot. When she opened them, it was to the realization that they had fallen into bed together, her slight form tucked in between Alexander's open legs like it was meant to be there since the beginning of everything. Though the actress appeared nude in every sense of the word, she knew better. A thin, flower-shaped piece of beige tape covered each nipple, and she sported a flimsy pair of nude-coloured underwear. Alexander had been no better- a simple, nude tube sock was the only thing shielding his manhood from her and everyone else in the room and the notion of it made her dizzy.

It was obvious now that they had choreographed this scene beforehand. Every kiss, every touch, every moan or groan was exactly how it was supposed to be. And the further she watched, the further her heart edged towards the precipice of shattering. So many emotions. She was surprised the most to feel anger; and not at all at him, but at herself. This was his job. His passion. Something that was as easy and instinctive to him as breathing. It was something that though he denied it staunchly, coursed through his blood and exited his body in waves of raw talent.

But watching him touch the undeniably beautiful woman beneath him in ways similar to how he touched her? And always in the privacy of their own home, shielded from view of anyone and everything else? Unimaginably difficult.

“Alright Georgia, I want you to kind of pepper Alex's chest with kisses as he thrusts once more against you, and as he does that, you are going to orgasm and then he is going to follow suit.”

They did exactly as they were told, and she watched in unbridled agony as the two of them tumbled over the proverbial edge, one right after the other. Sounds of their feigned lovemaking filled every square inch of room and very nearly caused her to leave right then and there. But then, mercifully, someone called cut, and the actress extricated herself from him and the torture ceased.

“Alright, that’s a wrap on today friends. Take care, we'll see you all in a couple of days.”

Releasing a lungful of pent-up air that felt like it had taken years to come to fruition, she watched Alexander wander off the set in search of clothing. Reaching down, she retrieved her purse and stole herself for her big reveal. He had asked her to visit him a couple of weeks ago, but their schedules had hardly meshed and it turned out that this was the only time until the end of the year that she could take her leave from work.

The weighty realization that she had never before needed to work up the courage to speak to him was not lost on her. But somehow, after the wildly pseudo-intimate event in which she had just been privy to- even surrounded by the skeleton crew, a knot of unease wound itself tight in the pit of her belly. It hindered her from approaching him directly, so she stood back while he finished speaking with a crew member, her gaze downcast, thoughts spiraling.

“Kid?”

Her nickname- one that had been bestowed upon her the night they first crossed paths, roused her from her anxious reverie and she offered him a meager smile. “Hi, Alex…”

He rushed toward her without hesitation, throwing his long arms around her in an embrace that her body had been craving for weeks. He smelled exactly how she had remembered leaving him, only with a subtle hint of something else- some other foreign flowery scent and instinctively, she reeled back from him, gaze weary.

“God, it's good to hold you again.” He pulled away from her to hold her at arm’s length; could sense the apprehension rolling from her in waves and he frowned. “Did you just get here?”

She swallowed the sizeable lump rising in her throat. “Uh, about an hour ago.”

Realization sunk in behind his eyes; she could see it in the way that the glitter in his blue orbs dulled, and he sighed heavily. “Kid- I had no idea you were coming-

“It was a surprise, Alex.”

He reached another arm around her, pressed his lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss. “I'm over the moon about it, honestly.” He pulled back from her to caress a hand to her cheek. “I'm just going to grab a few things and then we can head out, okay?”

She could feel the biting sting of looming tears behind her eyes, the words too heavy in the hollow of her throat, so she offered him a nod instead.

Their journey home- a beautiful, rented apartment in West London had been quiet save for the cacophony of masses of passerby. Random pieces of conversations in a myriad of accents, music from someone’s portable sound system, all helped to distract her from the thoughts swirling in her brain. Sitting next to him on the tube, she could feel the familiar warmth radiating from him in waves, and that seemed to abate the anxiety somewhat. Large fingers clasped together on his lap; he was staring at something unseen on the subway floor. The urge to say anything had been palpable minutes ago, but when she went to open her mouth, the precise words eluded her.

“Our stop’s next, kid.”

He rose from the seat ahead of her, offering his hand which she accepted gratefully. As the train trundled to a halt, a voice boomed loud on the speaker above them, but she could not make out what was relayed and then the doors opened for them, fresh air greeting the pair of them like old friends. She had visited England enough times now to know the feeling of an imminent rainfall; the dense moisture that pervaded every square inch of space around them and made her long for a cozy sweater, or blanket.

They walked in silence for about five minutes before the wrought-iron railing of their apartment became visible, and another heap of invisible weight dissipated from her at the notion that she would be in the comfort and warmth of their own space soon. Alexander fit the key into the lock, and opened the door for them, allowed her to wander inside first. Arriving earlier that morning, she had tried to make the space as cozy as she could before she left for the film studio, knowing that he would be spending at least another two months there during post-production. Alexander tossed the keys onto the wooden shelf in the front foyer, kicking his beloved desert boots off with a dull thud. Peeling the blue and grey plaid coat from his body, he hung that up in the front closet and reached for the coat that she had just shed, doing the same. Eyeing her in the fragmented light filtering in through the stained-glass window at the top of the front door, his expression was unreadable.

“I think we should talk about earlier this afternoon, kid.”

Instinctively, she rubbed a hand over her bare arm to ward off the chill that had finally settled itself into her bones and shook her head. “It’s not necessary, Alex.”

He clicked his tongue, gave his head a slight shake. “Don’t do that, kid. It obviously upset you, and I don’t blame you for that at all, but we should talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about, Alex?” She asked, her tone regrettably biting. “What you do in the confines of a film studio- on set, that’s your job. None of it concerns me.”

He sighed heavily. “If I had known you were coming, I could have asked to postpone the scene for a few days…”

“You weren’t supposed to know I was coming. That was the whole point...” Sensing that she was treading treacherous waters, she tried to switch tactics. “I’m fried from the flight in, I haven’t eaten much at all today- all of which resulted in a grotesque culmination of emotions, and I’m over it now.”

She viewed his 6’4” figure stood in the front hallway before her, large hands tucked into the front pockets of his blue jeans. He was sporting socks that she had purchased him for Christmas last year and the mere sight of them caused the lump that had dissipated a while ago to resurface in the hollow of her throat.

“Please, just talk to me.”

Anger evaded his tone- it brimmed instead with a gentle desperation, the resonance of it caused her heart to splinter a little deeper than it already was.

Words thick at the back of her throat, she leveled her gaze with his. “It hurt, Alex.”

There it was.

“It hurt to watch you be so intimate with someone else- to watch her touch you in ways reserved only for my hands, and my fingers, and my lips…” Flames fanned from anger and shame licked at her throat, and god damnit, she could feel the impending threat of tears again. Swallowing hard, she shrugged her shoulders. “And it sounds so much like jealousy but it’s not. It goes deeper than that,” She trailed off, voice breaking, as she lifted her gaze to Alexander’s. “I need you to know that I love you, and that I’ll support you in every single endeavor. But it just gets difficult sometimes…”

His cerulean gaze downcast, he chewed anxiously at the edge of his bottom lip as he mulled over what to say. When he finally glanced up at her, saltwater glittered in the depths of his own eyes and he allowed himself a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry, kid.”

She could hear the fragility in his voice now, how close it was to shattering completely and, in that moment, she launched herself into his arms. The urge to feel him on her, raw and utterly overwhelming. A secure arm around her waist, an impossibly warm hand at the back of her head, he held her to him like it was the last time he would ever have the opportunity. They stood embraced like that for an unknowable amount of time, and when he pulled away, it was to take hold of her hand and lead her down the hallway to the washroom. Once there, he flicked on the light which bathed the room in a pale-yellow glow and turned to her.

“Arms up,” He murmured, softly.

Doing as she was told, she raised her arms for him and held her breath as he pulled the t shirt from her body, tossing it into the wicker hamper next to the sink. He placed warm kisses over the delicate line of her collarbone, as he undid the zipper on her jeans and shimmied the useless material from her legs. She held onto his shoulders for support as he reached around her to unclasp her bra, letting the flimsy material fall to the glossy, tiled loor beneath them. Gentle lips kissed the soft skin of her shoulder blade as he hooked two fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, which she kicked off to the side. Standing back, she watched him rid himself of his own clothing in unconcealed awe, her hungry gaze raking over the definition in his chest, and at the taut, sun-kissed skin that rippled over chiseled muscles. He never failed to take her breath away.

They entered the shower together; a violent shiver wracked her body as she waited for the water to turn hot. Watching him from the far wall, she suddenly wanted him. She could feel a strong desire in the pit of her belly- where anger recently burned red-hot there, it had been replaced with a sheer need to have every inch of him make up for the hollow emptiness she had felt hours earlier.

He dipped his head beneath the steaming stream of water and beckoned her toward him. “Come here, kid.”

She walked into his open arms, wrapped her own around his frame and nestled her head against the part of his chest where she could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart against her cheek. His embrace, and the blissfully warm water rolling down her back was a healing salve for her soul and she could feel her anxiety dissipate with each passing minute they stood there. He gathered the wet hair from her shoulder in his hand and dropped it behind her back to press a series of scorching kisses up the side of her neck to her earlobe. Reaching for the shampoo bottle on the ledge, he poured a heap of the opaque liquid into the palm of his hand and began to massage it into her hair with skilled fingers. He worked it into a lather and pulled her back under the water to rinse it out, the subtly perfumed suds cascading freely down her back. Next, he worked the conditioner into her hair, and while that sat, he poured bodywash onto a sponge and began to wash her with a delicacy she was rarely privy to. She held onto him for support as he passed the soft sponge over the sensitive parts of her body, beneath her arms, the hollow crooks in the back of her knees, the soles of her feet. When he was satisfied with his work, he pulled her back under the the warm water to rinse the soap from her body and the conditioner from her hair. She was contentedly sleepy under the steady warmth; her eyelids heavy as she watched him cleanse himself of the day in which they had both endured. When he was finished, he held her in his arms again. She could feel the familiar pressure of his erection against her thigh, how it swelled harder the longer they remained embraced.

“I want you, Alex.” She murmured, earnestly.

A deep inhalation, she could feel him nod against her. Guiding her out of the stream of water, he positioned her up against the heated stones of the shower wall. She braced her arms above her, could feel him line himself up at her soaking entrance. Placing tender kisses down the ridges of her spine, he paid special attention to certain spots on her back that nearly made her sing out for him. One final kiss, and he pushed himself inside of her, reveling in her all-consuming heat. Dropping his forehead to the middle of her back, he stayed where he was for a moment to give her time to adjust to his size.

This was what she had been after from the very beginning; the sensation of him buried to the hilt inside of her, the delicious fullness of him, nearly brought a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. “So good, Alex…” She gasped.

He nodded against her; all forms of speech eluded him as he pulled back from her all-encompassing heat only to re-enter at an agonizingly slow pace. He grasped onto her hips as he found a steady tempo for himself, his fingernails digging miniscule crescent moons in her soft flesh.

“God, I’ve missed this.” He groaned, breathlessly.

Freeing a hand from her hip to snake it down to her sex, he pressed a skilled fingertip into her swollen clit, rubbing tantalizing circles into it. She raked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it to keep from crying out, causing Alexander to nip at the nape of her neck in mild disapproval.

“None of that, kid. I can tell how good I’m making you feel- but I want to hear it, and I certainly don’t want you to be quiet about it.” Always in constant awe of the sheer, physical affect that his words had on her body, she could feel the familiar unravelling of pressure in the pit of her belly and she arched her back against him to glean more pleasure. “Fuck, you feel amazing…”

A telltale sign of a man nearing the edge, his thrusts had started to grow sloppy, and she clenched around him to help spur his orgasm on.

“Fuck, Alex,” She warned in a hushed tone.

He groaned against her and applied harder pressure to her clit as she stilled against him, mouth parted and slack as a pleasure-induced white-hot lightning bolt coursed through her entire body. She imagined that she could feel it from the tips of her toes to the hair follicles on her head, and she trembled violently against him as her orgasm loomed tantalizingly out of reach.

“That’s it, baby…” He coaxed, gently. “Come all over this cock, hm?”

She froze against him, a single sound worked its way up her throat and exited her mouth in the form of a broken scream, as she tumbled over the edge, her orgasm immediate and intense. Clenching around his cock unintentionally as she unwound from her high, her muscle contractions caused him to drop his head to her back as he too began to unravel above her.

Fingernails marring the soft flesh of her hips and ribs, he stilled against her and with a strangled cry, came into her in thick, warm spurts. She had been after this sensation as well if she were honest. The satisfying feeling of being filled with every ounce of come he had to give her, could never be replicated. Peppering a couple more kisses to her damp back, he reluctantly pulled from away her to marvel at his come as it dripped from her core and slid down her inner thigh.

“Beautiful,” He murmured more to himself than to anyone else.

She stood where she was, braced against the wall for support while she tried to regulate her laboured breathing. Exiting the shower, she relieved herself, and wrapped a towel around her frame to dry off. Padding over to the expansive window adjacent to the made bed, she peered out over a darkening London. Raindrops raced each other in misshapen lines down the glass panes, and she found that she was grateful for the current weather. Alexander approached her from behind, wrapping her in his arms around her waist, chin resting easily in the crook of her shoulder blade.

“London is a lot more breathtaking with you in it.”

His stubble tickled her neck and she smiled to herself. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”

A subtle grumble, he turned her around so that she was facing him. Still entirely naked, he held her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. Her gaze traversed the cutting line of his jaw, his lips, his defined nose, his sparkling cerulean orbs which glittered brilliantly as he stared at her. No smile was offered up, but the delicate creases next to his eyes deepened as he spoke. “Just you, kid.”

He brushed the calloused pad of his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yesterday, today, tomorrow.”

#alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard imagines #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard fanfic #alex sstuff #writing #drabble #smut #alexander skarsgård

236 notes · View notes

silvercrystalwhump · 3 years ago

Text

Read like a Book

Vincent belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

Tag List: @whumpitywhumpwhump

TW: past noncon (implied), self victim-blaming, spice (doesn’t occur),

"Is this something new or is it just the usual?" Dmitri asks, violently ripping Vincent from the brink, the tether holding him to reality going taught and ripping him back.

"Hmm! Um, what do you mean?" Vincent asks as he comes back from his personal void. He realizes quickly that he's draped across Dmitri. The two, silently feeling the warm evening air, are out on Vincent's back porch. The sound of night peepers echoes around Vincent's house and the bubbling of his hot tub creates a calm white noise. The air seems slow-moving, like a leaf floating on the surface of a lake.

It's nighttime, Vincent realizes. The two sat out here around dinner, just enjoying the warm summer air. They both came home and quickly migrated towards each other. Then, they went out.

Dmitri chuckles, "You faded Vee. I tried to get your attention a while ago and you kinda just fell on me. So is this the usual issue or is it something new?"

"Issue? Nothing's wrong Dmitri. I'm-"

"-Fine, I know you are Vee. You wouldn't be this cuddly if something tipped you off the edge. But I can't tell this is one of your… moments." Dmitri says as he rubs his hand across Vincent's back. Vincent rests his head on Dimitri’s shoulder, allowing warmth to slowly pull the rest of him from the brink.

He wasn't having one of his moments, as Dmitri had dubbed them. He just left his mind for a while. A memory, one made of tears and pain, tried to bubble up to the surface and break the tranquility of their evening. Vincent was gone before it burst.

Dmitri was impossibly good at spotting them. Yet, he never seems to be fazed by Vincent’s vacations into the shallow pools of his own mind. Even when it takes hours for him to return.

"Just… vacated for a bit I guess."

Dmitri gives Vincent a kind smile, “Well, let’s vacate upstairs shall we. Both of us have a long day tomorrow.”

“Do we have to?” Vincent groans mockingly, an uncertainty sitting in Vincent’s head, “I like sitting out here with you.”

Dmitri rolls his eyes and scoops up Vincent into his arms. “Well, I like it as well but I have work tomorrow, setting up the second shop and all. So I need sleep.”

Vincent leans up and kisses Dmitri on the underside of his chin, “Fine, since you have to.”

Dark eyes look down on his lover and Vincent watches the tiniest shift in Dmitri’s gaze. It is so subtle that only Vincent, with his now years of experience with Dmitri, can see it. Vincent keeps himself from rolling his eyes, his lover always has had that kind of gaze every so often.

He was good at hiding it too.

What if he starts to ask questions?

Vincent bites back the question. It has been over a year since they committed to each other, why would Dmitri start questioning him now? He has had no interest in knowing about why Vincent was so averse to that form of intimacy before so why would he now.

It’s been a while. Most couples are past that already.

Vincent feels a sweetened dread seep into his stomach as Dmitri sets him down on his bed. Thousands of tiny what-ifs fly past Vincent’s vision as Dmitri stands. Crawling under his skin, the worries burrow deeper.

You should be past that.

“I’ma go change,” Dmitri says as he turns for the one drawer in Vincent’s dresser dedicated to Dmitri’s stuff. “Be back in a sec.”

Vincent sits on the bed, losing himself to his worries. The sheets cool under his skin. His eyes follow Dmitri out of the room and watch the door close behind him. Every passing possibility slowly devolves into something improbable and it’s maddening. Then, a voice that doesn't sound like it belongs to him, mutters sarcastically in his mind.

One time is not going to kill you.

Vincent exhales and sits back. The dread in his stomach starts to be smothered by a different feeling. A sort of anticipating fear blooms in its stead. As if his body was making the decision before his mind could register.

One time won’t hurt, right?

It’ll just be one time.

Vincent takes a deep breath and pulls up an acting face. He starts to feel detached like a layer of air spreading between the layers of his skin. He starts to feel the pull back into his mind but he holds his attention in front of him. It feels like pinning his conscience out in front of him, even with the squirming anticipation trying to unlatch it.

Dmitri knows when I fade. I can’t fade during this.

Acting is all in the eyes. If the eyes don’t match the role, the entire scene is ruined. The eyes make things convincing, they are what separate the actor from the character.

The eyes are what give me away.

Dmitri opens the door and walks towards the bed. Tiredness pulls at his eyes just enough for them to droop but not close. He sits on the bed next to Vincent, a warm smile growing across his face and lighting up the dim room. Dmitri leans back on a hand and brushes some of his braids out of his face.

“You know,” Vincent says, sliding into a character of himself, “We’ve had… some hiccups in the past between the two of us.”

Dmitri, raising an eyebrow, asks, “What do you mean by that?”

Vincent swings his leg over Dmitri’s lap and wraps his legs around his torso, “Well, intimacy has not been something we’ve done very much and I was thinking that we could change that today.”

Dmitri cocks an eyebrow in curious confusion, “And what do you mean by that?” There’s intrigue in Dmitri’s voice, the hint of mischief that Vincent is looking for.

Vincent rests his arms across Dmitri’s shoulders and presses his lips to Dmitri’s. He can taste the remnants of sugary frosting on the man’s lips. Their breath entangles and Vincent mutters into Dmitri’s lips, “Use your imagination.”

Then, Vincent feels Dmitri’s hand slide around to the small of his back and press him firmly into his chest. Pressing into Dmitri, Vincent lets himself be leaned back and pressed into the sheets. Vincent throws his legs around Dmitri’s waist and lets his hips press into Dmitri’s. Swallowing a forbidden ichor, Vincent lets himself fall deep into the desires that boil under his skin. Thoughts that would make Aphrodite blush nibble at the ends of Vincent’s fingers. Vincent’s fingers reach up and pull Dmitri down to his lips. They meet.

Stirring behind Vincent’s eyes, he realizes what he’s doing. He feels almost jolted aware suddenly. The tidal wave of fear previously blocked by a cloud of arousal is gone and just the looming beast remains.

Vincent is very aware of the mask he is holding over his thoughts. It slips ever so slightly. Vincent, using all of his attention, pulls it back over his face.

You want this.

Vincent presses deeper into the kiss.

You want this.

He tries to forget what he’s doing.

You want this.

Dmitri’s lips shift from Vincent’s down to his neck.

You wanted this.

As Dmitri comes up for air, he pauses, eyes scanning across Vincent’s face. Vincent brings an almost dreamy smile to his lips and tips his head to the side. Intrigue, that’s the feeling on Vincent’s face.

You signed up for this Vincent. You committed. See it through.

Dmitri’s expression drops. The lustrous curiosity vaporizing and tiredness fills its place. Dmitri pulls Vincent close to him and rolls over, positioning Vincent partially on top of him.

Vincent is very confused.

“Just go to sleep Vee,” Dmitri mumbles, clearly holding back more words.

Vincent props his head on Dmitri’s chest, letting the confusion seep through the playful mask he clutches to his face, hiding the breath-stealing fear. “What’s wrong?”

Dmitri sighs and pulls the covers up over Vincent’s shoulder, “I’m just... done.”

“Did I do something wrong?” A crack forms in the mask and the water of reality starts to drip across his face. What did I do?

“Vee- I- you clearly don’t want to do this, so don’t,” Dmitri says, frustration in his voice, “Just go to sleep, we both have stuff to do tomorrow.”

Vincent sits up and tries to repair the now crumbling mask. He can feel it chip away in every twitch of his facial muscles. Things he should have trained to keep straight and in the right position. Why is it failing me now?

“What do you mean? I wouldn't have started this if I didn’t want it.” The statement is far weaker than how it sounds in Vincent’s head.

Dmitri rubs the bridge of his nose and props himself up on an elbow. In the dim light of Vincent’s bedroom, Dmitri almost looks angry. He slowly pulls himself upright and sighs, “You might have started this, but you also look scared Vincent.”

The voice that’s not quite his, echoes in Vincent’s mine. Don’t look so scared, you want this.

“I’m not scared,” Vincent says as he comes to the terrifying conclusion that the mask he’s been wearing is completely gone now. All Dmitri sees is someone too scared to sit in his own skin.

“Please Vee,” Dmitri exhales. He rubs his eyes and sits forward. There’s frustration in his eyes, the kind that leaves a lot to the imagination. His fingers wrap around Vincent’s shoulder and Dmitri meets his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I love you,” Vincent says, voice rapidly getting smaller, “Because, um, that’s what couples do together.”

Dmitri sighs, the hands that are on Vincent's shoulders tightening around his skin. Vincent, at the moment, wants to take back the last thirty minutes of decisions he just made. The feeling of hot shame eats at the skin on his face.

"I'm sorry," Vincent stampers, "I should've thought this through-"

"Vee," Dmitri asks, staring dead into Vincent's eyes. Concern coats his face and opens confusion spills from his mouth. "What were you trying to do?"

Vincent didn't want to be in his own skin right now. The shame and terror were not going away fast enough. "I was hoping you would ignore it..."

"You were hoping I would ignore the fact you looked terrified and just, have sex with you?" Dmitri states with the tiniest bits of disgust and waves of worry filtering through his words. "We have a word for that, that's called rape."

"Nonononono, I just- I shouldn't've- I- I kept telling you no but I love you and I just to make up for-"

Dmitri pulls Vincent into his chest, horror coating every fiber of his mind. Vincent feels the warmth of Dmitri's skin and realizes he's been shaking. Vincent lets Dmitri hold him, feeling Dmitri's breath across his curls.

For minutes they sit in silence. Until Dmitri whispers in a firm, almost demanding, way.

"Who. the fuck. told you. that you should let the people you care about hurt you like that Vincent."

Vincent flinches back as the words sting on his skin. The air in the room shifts and he wants to coil into his skin and die. Dmitri’s eyes feel like a knife digging into his skin and dragging across a bone. Vincent rests his head under Dmitri’s chin and murmurs pleading apologies.

Dmitri sighs, the air rustling across his curls, and mutters, “I probably should go, let you have some space.”

Panic envelops the very fabric that makes up Vincent. The feeling of hope sliding through his fingers and falling into an inky black abyss fills him with dread. I’m gonna lose him.

“No! Wait, I’m sorry! Please- I’ll- I’m sorry, don’t go—”

With a warm, bare embrace, Dmitri wraps Vincent up and squeezes him slightly, “Vee, Shh. It’s alright, I’ll stay. Just go to bed.”

Vincent trembles. His entire body feels like it is going to rip apart under the weight of his mistakes. Dmitri gently guides him back down onto the sheets. Wrapping Vincent in his own sheet, Dmitri lets his warmth bleed over into Vincent.

Vincent starts to cry. A different kind of fear unfurls in his chest, not the terror-linked with sex but fear of Dmitri fading away into a clouded abyss and leaving him alone. Those tears carry him to sleep.

The next morning, Vincent wakes alone. Dmitri is gone. The urge to puke pools behind his lips. His eyes, straying to the clock on the wall, see that it's past eight o’clock and Vincent finds himself both relieved and that much more anxious.

Dmitri leaves for work at 7:30 on the dot, it's normal that he’s gone now. This is normal.

No matter what Vincent tells himself, he can’t bring himself to believe any of what he says.

Around six that evening is when Dmitri usually gets back from work. Vincent starts to panic at six-thirty.

When Dmitri opens the door Vincent is standing there. It’s 7 o’clock. There is a kind of fear eating at him that he has never felt before. He knows fear, this wasn’t it. He rubs at the long scar that circumferences his wrist. Their eyes meet and silence eats at their skin.

“I’m-”

“I need to apologise to you,” Dmitri says as he sets the bag of what smells like food on the table sitting in the doorway, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice last night, I’m sorry.”

Vincent pauses. The air feels too heavy to stand under. He swallows the mucus bile that rises in his throat. “You aren;t the person that is supposed to be apologizing to Dmitri. I am.”

“No,” Dmitri cuts him off, “You did nothing wrong. I- There’s probably many more things I should be apologizing for.”

“Dmitri-”

“I got us food,” Dmitri says, poorly masking a plethora of emotions, “From Claudios, the Italian place.”

Vincent looks at Dmitri, seeing pain and guilt behind his eyes. Vincent pulls Dmitri into a hug. Muttering into his chest, Vincent tries to say, “This isn’t your fault.” It’s mine.

Dmitri wraps his arms around Vincent and exhales into his hair. They just stay in each other’s arms for a while. Just together.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

When silence blankets them again, neither know what to say. The air stalls around them and then, Vincent looks up at Dmitri, “I love you.”

Dmitri gives him a soft, almost tearful smile, “I love you too.”

#vincent has no knowledge of autonomy #owen is still whispering into vince's head #poor boy #emotional whump #past noncon #spice #vincent shield #dmitri o'brian #forgotten to found

38 notes · View notes

decodingellipses · 4 years ago

Text

Modern Love: He Made Affection Feel Simple

[courtesy of Brian Rea]

"Dating as a transgender woman, in my experience, meant low expectations and casual sex. Then I met Jack."

This piece is part of the Modern Love column at The New York Times

by Denny

My bio on Grindr read: “Be trans friendly. Send face to chat.”

It was difficult to be on a gay hookup app as a trans woman. Most men in my feed desired to only sleep with each other. But I knew there were straight men on Grindr who hungered for a woman like me. I wanted them too.

That’s where I met Jack. At 22, he was a few months older than me, and, other than his age, his entire profile was blank, usually an indicator of a cisgender straight man who was guarded about his attraction to trans women. Typically, the messages I received would start with a vulgar sext, sometimes an unwanted nude photo.

Living in Morningside Heights, I was attending Fordham University for my master’s degree in strategic communication. One night I was up late working when I received a Grindr message from him, a selfie. Amid his light brown hair, two-day scruff and meek gaze, his lacrosse T-shirt stood out to me the most. He looked like a sporty boy I would have crushed on in high school.

He followed up his photo with “Hello.”

Messages in my Grindr inbox tended to cut to the chase: “Down for now?” “Car sesh?” Men who contacted me because they fantasized about trans women made it difficult for me to feel seen as a person in general, let alone a person worthy of respect.

Although my interest was piqued by Jack’s picture, it was his gentleness that drew me in.

Our sporadic small talk was harmless, spanning two months. I brushed him off, but as I commuted to school and spent hours in the library, he was persistent.

“My sex drive is pretty low these days,” I wrote. “Give me a bit and I’ll hit you up.”

“OK.”

When I turned back to my studies, he added, “Just so you know, we can do non-sex things and hang out too. It would be fun.”

This became our pattern: he being distant enough to show interest without pressure, and me appreciating his laxity, given my demanding schoolwork. His ease led me to trust him, so we set up a day to meet.

The first afternoon Jack came over, he admired my bathtub and drank his cup of water with two hands. His poised demeanor in a beige wool peacoat and long scarf reminded me, in a good way, of John Bender in “The Breakfast Club.” In my bedroom, he fixated on my yellow Power Ranger figurines, noticing my framed academic award next to them on the windowsill.

“You went to SUNY Oneonta?” he said. “I went to SUNY Potsdam.”

I pictured my friends who also attended Potsdam eating in the same cafeteria as Jack, getting drunk at the same frat party. Suddenly, the person I’d seen as a stranger now fit into my world.

I imagined what the deer looked like from his dorm room window, roaming the grass at dawn. Or how he spent his day when the school canceled classes because of snow. Or where he would have gone if his parents were able to afford private school.

We sat on my bed, my back leaning against the wall. He slouched his head onto my hip and wrapped his arms around my waist. “This is weird,” I thought. Aside from sexual intimacy, my hookups were typically aromantic, absent of cuddling and expressions of affection.

I kissed him and rolled on top. I took off my shirt and he hugged me tight. His face dug into my chest as he said, “I like you. I think you’re really cool.”

Unsure how I actually felt, I said, “Oh. I think you’re really cool, too.”

The next time I saw Jack, he spent the night at my place. It was then, awake in bed at 4 a.m., that I realized I had never let a guy sleep over before. His heat warmed the bed, so I crept to the bathroom to cool off. I Snapchatted a disoriented selfie to my friends, my hair messy and eyes bloodshot.

“How do you guys do this sleepover thing?” I wrote. “I can’t sleep at all.”

Customarily, my flings with strange men were brief. The men did not take note of my bathtub or my educational history before sex, and they did not linger after.

I came back into bed, disturbed by the rumble of his snoring, but his sleeping face on my pillow struck me. For the first time, the thought of sharing a bed with a man did not come from pure imagination. I now had a real image for this fantasy; I could pretend Jack was my boyfriend, reach for his face and whisper “I love you, good night,” then fall asleep and meet him somewhere in his dream as if we had done this a hundred times before.

The next day, he flew off to see his family for the holidays and the first weeks of the new year.

“merry crimmus,” I texted.

“u too, babygirl,” he replied.

After our sleepover, I didn’t hear from him unless I initiated — an unexpected change. Instead of giving in to my insecurity that the sleepover meant little to him, and therefore I meant little, I imagined other scenarios: him asking me to sleep at his place, for a change, or spontaneously calling me while I’m in line for my morning coffee. But because I had presumed a sex-only expectation from the start, I shamed myself for developing feelings.

“miss u,” he texted one random morning.

“really?”

We stayed in touch and occasionally saw each other, weeks in between. On a hot morning, he snored behind me as I sat on the floor beside my bed, working on my final thesis. He put his hand up to my face, letting me know he was awake. With my eyes on the laptop screen, I took his hand and planted kisses in his palm, wallowing in these ordinary joys — the kind of affection I slowly grew comfortable displaying.

Longing to be more than casual with him, I sought a therapist to guide me through my growing feelings.

Jack’s periodic “miss u” texts progressed with heart emojis, an unprecedented closeness. And I returned the sentiment. It felt thrilling to express my adoration so directly, until the weeks between seeing each other and texting ultimately turned into months of silence I knew to be ghosting.

I relied on Grindr as my safe dock because dating as trans is complicated. Sleeping around was easier for me. I had set the bar low, then met Jack, who saw me as more than a fantasized body, only to have his mysterious exit echo a looming insecurity I avoided for years: Being trans implies I am not real enough to deserve decency.

I broke down in therapy, mustering the courage to say out loud what was undeniably true: “He left me.”

“I don’t mean to put this on you,” my therapist said, “but could him being a cis straight man and you being a trans woman play a part?”

I didn’t want to blame Jack, who showed me a new realm of affection that made desire feel as simple as just a boy and a girl who liked each other. But he made leaving simple, too; all of this could still not be enough.

Deep down, I denied how my mere existence as a trans woman could ever cost him. Jack, in wooing me, nurtured the possibility that my romantic fantasies could come true, that I could be seen as a complex person rather than a fetishized token of someone’s imagination. After being deserted by him, I ruminated on my insecurity that being trans denied me of even a simple goodbye.

And yet I know myself to be real because my transition, as a teenager, required exceptional certainty. Doctors and psychiatrists double-checked my decision constantly.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I repeated, and I became more real each year. With Jack, I felt even realer. Not only had he seen me as a woman, but as a woman worthy of being held.

I could blame my being trans for Jack’s ghosting, but maybe it had nothing to do with that. Maybe he hated his job. Maybe his family fell apart. Maybe the pleasure we felt together contrasted whatever pain remained of our baggage.

On lonely days, I imagine myself at SUNY Potsdam. At a frat party, I drunkenly dance across from Jack, cheap blue lights grazing the curves of our cheekbones, sweat dripping like cyan fireflies. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” roars through the party. “Good times never seemed so good,” everyone shouts. “I’ve been inclined to believe they never would.”

I put myself in the cafeteria, where Jack and I approach the salad bar at the same time. When he sees me, he steps back and says, “You go first,” with a grin so big I would need both hands to hold it.

———

Denny is a writer, actor and musician living in New York City.

#modern love #ML #NYTimes #New York Times #The New York Times #Amazon Prime #dev patel #anne hathaway #tina fey #NYT #trans #trans dating #trans love #lgbtq #pride #grindr

27 notes · View notes

bastillewolf · 4 years ago

Text

Midnight In Sheffield (VIII)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: I’m back! Sorry this took me so long, I wasn’t entirely sure how to plot out the story, and now that I have to move I’ve been dealing with a lot of stress. I hope you’re all doing well x

Also, happy belated birthday to our very own Jamie Cook and Nicholas O’Malley!

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter VIII - R U Mine?

The walk up the stairs to her previously shared room in the hotel seemed to take a lot longer than usual. Her legs apparently found it to be highly unnecessary to spend the effort walking quickly when it was this late and they were already tired.

The clerk had told her Mark was indeed present, and that he should still be awake after ordering a drink not five minutes ago. The clerk seemed hesitant to disclose this information when she’d initially asked him, and it made her wonder why.

Was he sad? Or still angry? A part of her hoped it was the latter, for that would make things easier. She could handle angry, but she could never watch him cry. She’d never seen it before, so she wouldn’t know where to begin.

She knocked on the door, and heard a glass roughly being placed on what she presumed was the coffee table. She heard his footsteps grow nearer, until finally he opened the door, and stood in front of her.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

He looked tired. But he didn’t look angry. There was something else about him, but she couldn’t yet decipher what it was. Some kind of sadness loomed in his eyes and his shoulders were slumped, which made the pit in her stomach grow by tenfold. What if he was sad?

He finally collected his thoughts and invited her in, yet in a cool manner without any tremor in his voice.

He hadn’t packed any of his things, nor hers, which meant that their fight had only been that to him. And that’s what it should’ve been to her, if she hadn’t been lying to herself all this time.

They both took a seat on the couch, as far away from each other as possible. Mark picked up his drink.

“I have to-“

“Something-“

They both fell silent, neither of them very willing to be the first to speak even though they’d both taken the initiative at the same time just then. Mark finally gestured for her to start, which she accepted, and took a deep breath for. She’d never before felt this estranged to him.

“Mark, I don’t think I can do this-“

“I slept with Rachel.”

…

“What?”

He’d interrupted her when it seemed the guilt had finally taken its toll on him. That’s the thing she’d seen when she’d met his eyes as he opened the door. Guilt, shame, anguish; whatever you want to call it. She hadn’t recognized them because she was sure Mark was incapable of feeling those emotions. He’d never shown them before.

Yet, here he was, proving her wrong once again.

And surprisingly, she found it more aggravating that of all the time they’d spent together, he only now thought it best to show some form of regret over any of his actions. She’d barely even blinked when he’d confessed the actual problem.

Honestly, she should’ve seen it coming. She’d already known long before that Rachel was a serial adulteress, and that James didn’t know about a thing. She knew Mark was always adamant to make time for her whenever their busy schedules allowed it, yet was never able to take a day off to meet what should’ve been his future in-laws. She also knew Mark and Rachel had had a thing back in high school, and that the only reason it had ended was because Rachel eventually had to move away.

She’d always been revolted by cheaters. Cowards, they’d been in her eyes.

But now that she was facing the man who had committed such a crime, who was now on his knees in front of her begging for forgiveness, all she could feel was pity, and a sense of understanding.

He hadn’t been the only one, after all.

“Mark,” she said, pulling her hands out of his clammy grasp. He looked up at her with - if he had been any good of an actor she would’ve called them teary - sweaty eyes. She looked right through his façade.

“I forgive you.”

“You- You do?” he asked in confusion.

She nodded. “But only if you can forgive me.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I kissed someone else. More than once.”

He blinked, as if in a daze, and slowly got up off the floor. He turned to look out the window. “Did… Did you like it?” he asked.

“I did,” she honestly told him. “Mark, you and I haven’t been happy for a very long time. This was bound to happen one way or another, and I can only be relieved it was an unexpected simultaneous decision on both our ends. I came to tell you I think we shouldn’t be together anymore, and I think it’s obvious why.”

“But… It was a mistake…” he muttered, running a hand through his curly hair.

“It wasn’t. Deep down, you know it wasn’t. Mark, it’s better this way. We should move on with our lives, so we can both find happiness.”

“I was happy with you.”

“And I once was with you too, but it wasn’t meant to last. I can only thank you for being such a good partner, and getting me through my rough patches. I hope you hold a similar sentiment, and that maybe we could still be friends.”

He didn’t respond, and it slightly worried her. She thought her words might’ve been enough to soothe him, but as of right now, he held as much emotion as a book with a blank cover.

Perhaps he was in shock?

She had half the heart to reach out to him and wrap her arms around him, so she hesitantly got up, until-

She wasn’t quite sure what had happened anymore.

One second she was getting up, and the next she was on the floor, holding her stinging cheek.

He’d actually hit her.

Yet the only thing she could think of was not how she should’ve seen this coming, or that she should feel scared, but of how she wouldn’t want Alex to see her bruised face.

“Go on then,” he spat, “Go back to your new boyfriend, you fucking whore. I hope you make him as miserable as you did me.”

She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to give him that. So, she got up, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’m going to let that one slide, because I know how you can get when you’re drunk. Goodbye, Mark.”

Years of working hard to maintain a mature and healthy relationship, or some form of such a façade, only now down the drain, when they should’ve been saying the ‘yes’-word to each other in front of all their friends and family in a few months. It should’ve ended much earlier. It was done.

And that should’ve been that.

But right as she was about to shut the hotel door behind her, something made of glass – presumably his previous drink – shattered against the wall, causing shards to fly through the slit of the opening and dig into her arm.

She didn’t waste any time bolting down the hall, ignoring the elevator, and stumbling down the stairs as she heard his footsteps follow dangerously close behind her. She felt him brush the back of her arm once, and in her panic she jumped down the last set of stairs.

Her ankle twisted in a nasty way, but barely noticing it because of the panicked adrenaline coursing through her veins, she kept running. Past the clerk who shouted in concern but was unable to do anything, through the doors, up the hill, and past the fountain, until all she could hear through the whistling in her ears were her gasping breaths and her shoes clacking across the cobblestone street.

She halted and looked around, noticing that the block was entirely empty.

She sunk to her knees, and finally allowed herself to cry.

…

She heard the front door open, but didn’t bother to look up. Her eyes were glued to the empty pages in front of her, one on the screen of her laptop, and the other resting on her desk with a closed pen next to it. The shuffling of feet grew ever nearer, like a predator nearing in on its prey, and it told her all she should know about Mark’s lack of soberness. He had been going out a lot these days, claiming it was only to catch up with colleagues. But she knew otherwise.

“You should be asleep,” he slurred.

“You said you wouldn’t be out long,” she shot back.

Sleep depravation does a lot to you, and so does alcohol. And when the two collide, only bad things follow.

“Why do you think I go out?! You should be in bed,” he repeated with a dangerously low voice.

She got up, her chair scraping across the floor, and looked him right in the eye. “Sounds like a real good coping mechanism, Mark.”

She was about to turn to walk into their bedroom when she was suddenly spun around and her back hit the wall. Mark’s hands wrapped down her throat, and he looked as if he wanted to do more than that.

“Go the fuck to bed,” was all he’d said.

And they’d never spoken about it again.

…

“Love?”

She wasn’t underwater, she was pretty sure of that. But it did sound like it when Alex spoke again.

“Love? Are you alright?”

He was kneeling down next to her, and had draped his coat over her shoulders. It had started raining; a while ago, from the feel of her soaked hair.

She’d long stopped crying, and only know realized how ridiculous she must’ve looked sitting in the middle of the street like this, sobbing while it started pouring, with the knees of her tights torn and her black makeup blotched all over her face which she made no attempt to fix or hide. She was a real mess.

“Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

***

@alexbandguy86 @bettyschwallocksyee @fookingsummertime @juicebox-baby@darksydork7 @edgythought @ssadderdaze @h0twasabi @rogerseyeliner @arctic-monkcys @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo @rosemallowss

103 notes · View notes

jeongyunhoed · 4 years ago

Photo

8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Lights, camera, action!

A tale of love and suspense, Park Seonghwa is haunted by the memory of his deceased wife, a shadow looming over the halls of his mansion. When he marries again, his new wife now comes to realize that even in death, his wife still remains.

Daphne

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, suicide, and illness. Might have some innuendos, might not. But I’m putting these warnings out there regardless.

Other things to note: There are OCs. I might mention other idols (most likely NCT).

A/N: This has the same format as my Twilight Zone AU “The Other Dimension” where everyone in Ateez is here as well. So yeah, enjoy. Implied smut ahead...sort of, if you squint. But creepy San ahead.

Masterlist

Part 2

There she was, standing next to Seonghwa in front of a local justice in the nearest village by the sea later that day. A bouquet of small flowers in her hand, given to her by the children they passed by one moment, Seonghwa buying the rings that would make their relationship officially permanent in the local jewelry shop the next. She figured Seonghwa must have already been planning for this moment since he went to sleep days since their meeting, but she had never felt more certain. After exchanging I do’s with each other, the justice had made them official. She was now Mrs. Park Seonghwa.

“How do you feel? Regret it yet?” Seonghwa asked her on their drive back to their hotel.

“On the contrary, I feel like I’m on the clouds” She replied, reaching for his free hand and he kissed the back of hers. “Like I can do anything!”

Seonghwa smiled, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove them back to the hotel where they now stayed together. They pulled up the driveway and hurried up to the suite where he brought her across the threshold, the two of them exchanging soft kisses that eventually turned into something more passionate. They consummated their marriage that evening and into the early hours of the morning.

The following month, they were on their way to the Fontaine, the road curved and full of twists and turns that she had to grip the armrest of the car. The wind was hitting their faces and blowing in her hair, and she still felt like she was on cloud nine. They stopped in front of iron gates, with an arch over them that said “Fontaine” marking the path towards the house she had only seen on postcards.

The path before them was lined with trees and shrubs that looked like they were in need cleaning up, and the blissful mood was met with a more somber one, a feeling of dread washing over her the closer they were getting. She could see the slight change in her husband’s expression the further they went. The loud rumbling of thunder echoed in the skies followed by rain and she put her jacket over her head to cover herself, Seonghwa unable to do the same as he stepped on the gas a little more.

And there it was, the massive estate that she had only seen in pictures. The Fontaine was a large, white mansion that looked almost like a castle, and there were several other smaller houses that surrounded it. She figured it was the servants’ quarters as well as the garages that probably housed six or seven more cars like the one they were riding in. From the side, she could see that there was a swimming pool. This was Seonghwa’s home, the house he was born and raised in, and the home that the two of them were to live in. It was almost like an heirloom knowing how many generations of his family must’ve resided in the mansion. It was massive, it looked beautiful, straight out of a fairy tale, yet there was something about it that made her anxious.

They pulled up into the driveway and entered the house, pushing open the doors that led them into the great hall. The lights were dimmed down, with the lamps and the fireplace being the only sources of light. There was a small crowd of the Fontaine’s staff gathered in front to receive them, all of whom looked very pleased, yet she was nervous to approach them. The closer they were, they saw one man, dressed a little differently from the rest of the staff, emerge from the crowd. He had upturned eyes, angular features, and hair that was just as black as Seonghwa’s. He had a stern look about his face and if she let her emotions get the better of her, she would’ve stepped back before approaching him.

“Hello” She said quietly, dropping her glove, and he bent down to pick it up and gave it back to her.

“This is Mr. Choi San, or San if you want to get down to more casual terms. He pretty much oversees everything here so you don’t have to,” Seonghwa introduced them.

“Good evening,” She greeted him again.

“Good evening, Madam,” He replied with a slight bow. “I have everything ready for you.”

“Oh, well, that’s very good of you,” She said with a nod. His face betrayed nothing.

“Will you be going to your room now? Or will you be having tea in the library?” He asked.

She was still trying to find the words. He gave off a very intimidating aura. “I-well-”

“The room first, San,” Seonghwa spoke. “Show her to her room so she can get out of her wet clothes, we ran into a storm on the way,” He said, and kissed her on the cheek.

“This way, Madam,” He turned on his heel to lead the way and she followed him towards the two large marble staircases and up the right staircase and down to the only other door. There were portraits of Seonghwa’s family hung over the walls. San pushed the door open, revealing the room that she would be using from now on. “I hope you will approve of the new decorations in these rooms, Madam,” he said.

She walked inside, in awe of what the room looked like. It had a large four-poster bed with a red velvet canopy. The ceiling was high and had a chandelier, and there were shelves full of books and a dresser in the corner as well as a large, white gold desk. Everything looked extremely opulent, yet she knew it was to be expected as it was the Fontaine and Seonghwa’s family was a very prominent one. “I-I didn’t know these were changed, what did it look like before?” She asked curiously.

“It had different hangings, old paper,” San replied. “This room wasn’t used much, except for the occasional guests.”

“So this wasn’t Mr. Park’s room, originally?” She asked this time.

“No Madam,” San said. “He has never used the East Wing before. The West Wing has the only good view of the ocean.”

She nodded, taking in the rest of her surroundings. “This room is very beautiful, and I’m sure I’ll be comfortable.”

San gave a nod. “If there’s anything you want done, Madam, you only need to tell me.”

“I guess you’ve been at the Fontaine for years now,” She said.

“I came here when the first Mrs. Park was a bride,” San replied.

She nodded again in understanding. “I hope we’ll get along, Mr. Choi, I just have to ask that you be patient with me, this kind of life is new to me and I want to do well here and make Mr. Park happy. At least I now know I can leave all the household arrangements to you,” She said.

“I hope I shall do everything to your satisfaction Madam,” San said. “I’ve managed the house since Mrs. Park’s death, and Mr. Park has never complained.”

“In that case,” She looked around. “I guess I could go downstairs now, maybe changing out of these clothes can wait, I want to see more of the Fontaine first.”

“Of course, Madam,” San turned on his heel again, and she hurried to follow him. She could tell he didn’t exactly like her, but she figured it was because they had never met. Maybe he could warm up to her in time. “The room in the West Wing I was telling you about is on that side,” He gestured to the other room across them. “It’s not used now, it’s also the most beautiful room in the house - the only one that looks across the lawns to the sea. It was Mrs. Park’s room.”

It became more apparent just how much San didn’t like her over the next few weeks. He never failed to mention how there had been another woman before her, the first Mrs. Park, the beautiful Daphne Yoo who was supposedly practically perfect in every way. It was clear how much of an influence Daphne had over the staff and understandably so, but even until now, until after her death, her influence remained. Her stationery on the main desk in the study, a letter “D” embellished on the linens, on the books, including the dog she used to own, a great dane named Lucky, who also slept outside her room.

Even after her death, Daphne was all around the Fontaine, as if she had never left.

She came down from her room for breakfast, knowing that San had already prepared everything in the dining hall until she skidded to a halt when she saw someone else in the study. It was a man, who looked a lot shorter than both San and Seonghwa, but unlike San, had a more approachable demeanor aside from an evidently handsome face. “Oh, good morning!” He greeted her, getting up from the chair.

“Good morning” She said, bowing a little in response.

“You’re Mrs. Park, aren’t you?” He said.

“Yes, yes I am,” She nodded.

“My name is Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong, I manage the estate for Seonghwa. It’s very nice to meet you,” He smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“A lot of stuff has piled up since Seonghwa was away, I had to get to them right away now,” Hongjoong said.

“If you need help, you can tell me,” She suggested.

“Help him?” Seonghwa suddenly appeared from behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Hongjoong doesn’t allow anyone to help him,” He said, beaming as he held her close for a moment before pulling away. “But it’s good that you two have finally met, we should probably go over the estimates now, don’t we?”

“I’ll get my papers then,” Hongjoong replied, walking over to a chair that had his briefcase.

Seonghwa turned to her. “There’s a lot of food prepared in the dining room already. Eat a lot, hmm?” He said, pecking her lips with a smile.

“I’ll do my best,” She said.

“Later this afternoon, probably, why don’t we take a walk around here? Just you and me, there’s still a lot you have yet to see” Seonghwa smiled.

She smiled back. “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

“Good,” He pecked her lips again before joining Hongjoong over to the desk.

She watched the two of them talk for a moment until she excused herself to leave and enter the dining room. As she had expected, the long table was now laden with a lot of food, from slices of toast to large, silver, pots of coffee that was served in cups that were likely passed down from one generation to another. This was her life now, living in an estate like the Fontaine by the sea, while her husband was often busy with work but promised to make time for her later. It was moments like these that assured her that she belonged here, in the Fontaine, with Seonghwa.

As Seonghwa had promised, they were taking a walk around the Fontaine later that afternoon, with Lucky on a leash. He showed her the servants’ quarters that seemed to be as elaborate as the main house, as well as the garage that had his family’s collection of cars, some of which were especially rare models nowadays. A gust of cold wind from the sea hit them, and Seonghwa was almost losing control of Lucky’s leash, as the dog was beginning to get restless.

“Keep warm, my darling,” Seonghwa said to her while he tried to maintain control of the dog’s leash.

“I’m trying. It’s not going to rain now, is it?” She asked, trying to help him with the dog and taking the leash from him instead.

“You can’t be too careful,” Seonghwa replied.

“It’s really wonderful here,” She said. “I love every bit of this place.”

The dog had gotten away, making her nearly fall over and Seonghwa catching her for support. “Lucky!” He called out with a whistle. “Lucky! Here! Not that way! Lucky, come back!”

“He went down those steps by the cliff, where does that lead?” She asked, watching the dog move down.

“It uh,” Seonghwa paused, trying to whistle again to get the dog’s attention. “It leads to a cove where we used to keep a boat.”

“Then let’s go down there, Seonghwa,” She said, tugging on his arm.

“Oh no, no, we don’t need to go down there, it’s not very interesting, just a stretch of sand.”

“Seonghwa, please, we have to go down there,” She insisted.

He shook his head slightly. “We’ll go down there next time, not today.”

They heard a howling from where the dog came from. She tugged on his arm again. “Seonghwa, is that Lucky? There must be something wrong, he probably injured himself.”

“No, he’s fine. Just leave him be,” He replied.

“I really think I should go down there and check up on him,” She said, pulling away, carefully moving towards the steps to the sound of Lucky’s howling.

“Come back! Don’t mind Lucky!” Seonghwa was calling out. “He’s just fine, he knows the way home!”

Even then, she couldn’t leave the dog behind. What if Lucky really was in danger? At least she would be there to see if he was alright. “Lucky? Lucky?” She called out the closer she got, until she saw the dog in front of what looked like a small cottage. Lucky was scraping and pawing at the door. “Lucky? What are you doing here? Are you looking for something in there?” She said, grabbing the end of the leash again. “Come on, let’s go back, Lucky.”

The door of the cottage slowly opened, and behind it was an old man, looking down at the dog. “He comes here looking for her,” He said.

She stepped back in surprise at the sight of him. “Oh! I didn’t-I didn’t know this was occupied-”

“I know that dog,” The old man said. “He comes from the house, he’s not yours.”

“No,” She shook her head. “He’s Mr. Park’s dog.”

“I know that dog, he comes here looking for her,” The old man said again.

“Who? Whose cottage is this?” She asked.

“Mrs. Park,” The old man replied.

“Oh,” She said, and turned back to the dog, tugging on the leash. “Come on, Lucky, let’s go home,” and the dog whimpered a little.

“You won’t tell anyone you saw me in here, will you?” The old man suddenly asked.

“You mean you don’t belong here in the Fontaine?” She asked.

“Yes, but I wasn’t doing anything bad, I was just putting away the shells I collected,” The man replied. “She’s gone in the sea, isn’t she? She’s not coming back.”

“No,” She shook her head. “She’s never coming back. Come on, Lucky, let’s go home,” She tugged on the leash again, leading the way back to where Seonghwa was. The closer they got, the more she saw Seonghwa already on his way back to the house and she hurried up the steps and towards him. “Seonghwa! Seonghwa! Wait!” She said, the dog now following behind her. Seonghwa stopped to wait for her and she had already sensed that his mood had changed. “I’m so sorry it took a while.”

“I told you not to go there, you knew I didn’t want you to go there, but you went anyway,” Seonghwa muttered.

“But why not? There was only a cottage down there, and a strange man-”

“Don’t go back there again, do you understand?” Seonghwa was stern this time.

“Why not?” She asked.

“Because I hate the place!” Seonghwa snapped. “If you had my memories, you wouldn’t go there or talk about it or think about it!”

“What’s wrong? Oh I’m so sorry, Seonghwa-”

He sighed and looked down, apologetic as he calmed down and shook his head. “We should’ve stayed away from this place,” He said. “We should never have come back to the Fontaine, it was stupid of me to even think of coming back here.”

She stepped closer. “Somehow I’ve made you upset, haven’t I?” She asked. “Oh, I can’t stand seeing you like this, I love you very much, Seonghwa, so, so much,” She said, her eyes welling with tears.

He cupped her cheek. “I’ve made you cry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He said softly, wiping the tear that fell down her face. “I tend to snap unnecessarily, haven’t I?” Seonghwa sighed and kissed her. “Please forgive me, let’s go home, shall we? We’ll have tea and forget this happened.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d like nothing more.”

They didn’t return down the path that led to the cottage, and she now knew how upset Seonghwa had gotten knowing that she went there. She had accidentally opened up the past to him, and even if he kept assuring her for a week on how things are fine, there now seemed to be a barrier between them. It was that barrier that made her a little uneasy whenever she brought up the sea. She entered the library to get a book to read, where Hongjoong was, going over piles of papers.

“Please carry on, Mrs. Park, you’re not disturbing me,” He assured her with a smile. “Let me know if there’s something you’d like to know about the estate.”

She turned around to face him. “Oh, well, I was-I was down at the cottage last week, and the place seems to be nearly in ruins, in need of repair or something,” She wondered if she could ask it. “Are all those things in there, Daphne’s things?”

Hongjoong nodded. “Yes, yes those are all Daphne’s things inside that cottage.”

“What did she use the cottage for?” She was becoming more curious, and Hongjoong was the only one she felt who could tell her.

“The boat used to be parked there,” He replied.

“The boat?” Her eyes widened slightly at the revelation. “Oh, that was the boat that she was sailing in when she drowned?”

“Yes, it capsized and sank and she went overboard,” He answered.

“Where did they find her?” She asked.

“Around 60 kilometers away, washed up at another beach, they only found her two months later,” Hongjoong’s tone was a lot more somber now. “Seonghwa had to go to identify her, it was horrible for him.”

She nodded. “I can imagine so,” She looked down at the book she took out from the shelf. “Hongjoong? Mr. Kim? Please forgive me for being a little too curious but, can you tell me just one more thing?” She asked carefully.

“Of course, Mrs. Park,” He said with a slight nod. “If I can answer it, please let me know.”

“Tell me,” She paused, unsure if she wanted to know, yet a part of her wanted to. “What was Daphne really like?”

Hongjoong sat up, a small sigh escaping his lips as he tried to recall his memories of seeing her. “I guess she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” He said.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa went up to the capital to take care of business another week later, leaving her alone at the Fontaine. It made her realize how the estate still had much to show her the more she wandered around the halls, stopping to look at portraits and photos of Seonghwa and his family. Knowing that he wouldn’t be back until the next day, she took it upon herself to tour the mansion some more, but always stopping short when she reached Daphne’s room, but as day turned into night, she heard voices coming from the West Wing, near her room. One, she knew was San, and the other was of a stranger.

“I don’t think it wise for you to be back here, Mr. Wooyoung,” He said.

“Oh, nonsense, it’s just like coming back home,” The other voice said. “I have to say though, I feel like the poor relative, sneaking through back doors. Oh well, bye, Sannie.”

“Goodbye, Wooyoung, and be careful,” San replied.

“I will, don’t you worry about a thing,” He said.

She opened the door, making them look at her. The man who was about to leave through the other door had a grin on his face, while San remained stoic. “Oh, hello,” He said, just as cheerily as she had overheard him.

“Good evening,” She greeted back.

“Sannie, your precautions seem to be futile now, the mistress of the house was hiding behind the door after all,” He said, patting San on the shoulder a little too hard.

“I-I wasn’t really,’ She shook her head. “I just heard voices coming from this room-”

“Sannie, how about you introduce me to the bride, hmm?” He patted San again.

“Madam, this is Mr. Jung Wooyoung,” He introduced them, and they bowed to each other in response.

“Won’t you stay and have some tea? San can probably bring in some for you,” She said.

Wooyoung chuckled. “That’s a charming invitation. How about that, Sannie? I’ve been asked by the mistress of the house to have some tea.”

“It’s rather late, Mr. Wooyoung,” He said.

“Oh, well, you’re right, it is rather late,” Wooyoung said. “And we wouldn’t want to lead the bride astray, now would we? Well, bye now, Oh, Sannie seemed to leave out an important part of our introductions, I’m Daphne’s favorite cousin,” He revealed. “Bye!” He waved before leaving, and she watched him go down the stairs, San following him.

She turned around as soon as Wooyoung was no longer in sight, and there it was. The door to Daphne’s room. She had long wondered if she should open it and see what was in there, yet a part of her didn’t want her to and only for her to leave it alone. But San wasn’t around, no one else was around, and her curiosity was becoming stronger the closer she got to the door of Daphne’s room. Without another thought, she turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, perhaps furniture all covered up in white sheets, dust gathering in the nooks and crannies, cobwebs splayed over some other furniture. Yet it was the opposite. There were fresh flowers in the vase on one table, a silk dressing gown on the chair all laid out along with slippers. She could hear the waves crashing in the sea, and smell the sea air coming in through the curtains.

The door closed behind her all of a sudden, making her jump and turn around, feeling her heart almost jump out of her chest in surprise. It was San. “Would you like anything, Madam?” He asked.

“No, no,” She was trying to shake off the feeling from earlier. “I was-I mean, I just came in-”

San walked up towards her. “You’ve always been curious about this room, haven’t you? Why didn’t you ask me to show you? It’s a beautiful room, isn’t it? The most beautiful room in this house if I do say so myself,” There was something about the way he said it that made her feel so uneasy. “Everything is kept just the way Mrs. Park liked it, and nothing has been changed since that last night.”

She was growing a little more uncomfortable the more he went on about Daphne, and he walked past the sheer curtains towards her dressing area and opened the door. “This is where I kept her clothes. You’d want to see them, wouldn’t you?” He said, taking out one piece of clothing. “Feel this wrap, it’s very soft, isn’t it? It was a Christmas present from Mr. Park. He was always giving her expensive gifts,”

She reached out to feel the material. It was incredibly soft. “You wouldn’t think she’d have been gone for a long time, would you?” A chill ran down her spine at his words. “Sometimes when I walk along the corridors, I think I can hear her behind me, her footsteps quick and light, I could figure out that it was her. It’s not only in this room, it’s in all the rooms in this house,” San put away the wrap and closed the door, approaching her this time, but she backed away.

“I can almost hear it now,” He said, in an almost-whisper as he closed his eyes. “Do you believe the dead come back and watch the living?”

She felt goosebumps at his question and backed away some more. “No, no, I don’t believe it, Mr. Choi.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if she doesn’t come back to the Fontaine, and watch you and Mr. Park together,” San took another step forward, making her step back. “You look tired, Madam, why don’t you stay here and rest? Listen to the sea, it’s very soothing,” He sounded cold.

“I won’t listen, I won’t, I won’t,” She shook her head, covering her ears in horror.

#kdiner #ateez #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #ateez scenarios

31 notes · View notes

flowers-creativity · 4 years ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 6: Insomnia

Fandom: The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos

Warnings: None

Summary: Aramis can’t sleep

Notes: First Febuwhump ficlet! I’m not doing all of them but will post if and when the muse strikes.

This one is for @aini-nufire who suggested Aramis and insomnia.

AO3 link

Later, he could no longer say when it had started. Probably around the time after the King had announced that the Queen was with child. Beaming and proud and with no doubt at all that his childless marriage had finally been blessed. The only one in the room who knew what had actually happened was Athos, and one look had made it clear that sympathy was not high on his list of reactions to the news.

So he hadn't gone to him to look for it. And he could not go to Porthos, which hurt in its own special way, nor to d'Artagnan, which hurt in a different way again.

As was his wont to do, he went to others for, if not sympathy, at least companionship. But between the memory of one stolen night with a lonely woman who told him he was worth her touch, her affection, the shadow it was casting on his friendships, his family of those three soldiers, his brothers, and the thought of what was to come – and he was terrified, and terrifyingly excited … Companionship did not help.

So he stopped going to Madame du Peigne, to sweet Marie, to playful Yvette. Instead, he went home, to his apartment near the Garrison, and fell into bed in the vain hope that maybe at home, his mind would rest.

And then he got up and lit a candle, sitting until the small hours of the morning poring over his Bible until his eyes ached and his mind was awhirl with quotes and parables that might have helped at another time but this time, did nothing to soothe the sting of his mistakes and how little he actually regretted them.

When the sun rose, he got up, tied his weapons belt around his waist and marched into the Garrison as if he wasn't dragging the weight of too many sleepless nights with him.

He could keep this up. And at some point, he would be so tired that he would be able to sleep, his mind be damned. He was sure of it.

_________________

“Aramis!”

Aramis yanked his head up, opening his eyes – he did not remember closing them … “Huh?”

Porthos loomed in front of him, bent over the table and a hand on Aramis' shoulder. “You alright? Almost landed face-first in the soup there.” Dark eyes bored into his, worriedly searching for something.

Aramis leaned back and tried not to feel too disappointed when Porthos' hand slipped from his shoulder. “Oh … Ah,” he hedged, then yawned, which was only half play-acting. “I guess I must've fallen asleep for a moment. I'm just a bit tired.”

“Hum,” Porthos said as he settled on the bench opposite without his eyes leaving Aramis' face, “you've been looking a bit tired a lot, lately. Not sleeping well?”

How about not at all, Aramis thought bitterly. But aloud, he said: “Oh, you know. Madame de Chalon's husband is away, and who am I to waste such a perfect opportunity?” He grinned his usual charmer's grin and hoped that he was good enough an actor that Porthos would not notice it didn't reach his eyes.

Porthos rolled his eyes good-naturedly, even if the worry was not completely gone. “Well, I'd say when you start falling asleep at the mid-day meal, it's time to cut back a bit. You never listen to me, though, so I won't waste my breath.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just take care, alright? I won't be there to keep you from drowning in your soup all the time.”

“I always listen to you!” Aramis protested, ignoring the ache the whole conversation was stirring in his heart. It wasn't Porthos' fault, just the contrary. It was Aramis who had done something so huge, so dangerous that he could no longer sit and banter with his friends like they used to, that he could not ask his oldest friend for help when the thoughts of it haunted him. That he could not confess to him the darkest part of it: that he did not regret it. Not the night itself, nor what had come of it. Not the thought of a child – his child.

Porthos snorted. “Alright, you listen sometimes,” he acquiesced magnanimously. “But always is as much as an exaggeration as never.”

Aramis conceded the point with a tilt of his head, then dragged himself off the bench and said: “I'll better go and take a nap before afternoon training, then, so I won't fall asleep with a musket in my hand. I'll see you then?”

“Sure,” Porthos said, grinning widely and waving at him. “And don't oversleep, or I'll come and drag you out of bed for a bath in the horse trough. That'd wake you up quickly, eh?”

Aramis returned the grin to the best of his abilities. “No, thanks, I prefer gentler ways of being wakened.”

“Not gonna put on a dress and wake you up with a kiss!” Porthos called after him as he walked away, and the grin Aramis gave him over his shoulder felt more natural. “You'd look really nice, though!” he called back.

His grin faltered quickly, though, and he spent the next hour lying on his bed, wide awake, and tried to find a way how he could have told Porthos the truth without putting a noose around his neck like he had done to Athos.

_____________________

Standing guard was Hell. Aramis was convinced of it. Training was bad – and his performance got worse by the day – and patrols were bad – and he thanked God every time they made it through without his fatigue getting one of them killed – but standing guard was Hell. Nothing to do that required as much attention as he could spare, no conversation that kept his thoughts from straying, no movement that kept his limbs from locking up … He was sure he was trembling, and his eyes stung with involuntary tears that he blinked away quickly.

“Aramis,” he heard Porthos hiss at him, and he shook his head without looking at him.

“Aramis,” his friend repeated, “you're not well. I can see it. Everyone can see it.”

Aramis shook his head again, staring straight ahead. If he dared look at Porthos right now, he would lose it.

Porthos huffed impatiently. “Y'know, I don't wanna know what's going on. You don't need to tell me. But you can't go on like that. Look at me, Aramis.” He suddenly loomed before him, and Aramis shrank back, startled. Strong hands caught him by the elbows, keeping him upright. “When did you sleep last?”

Aramis willed his sluggish brain to come up with a quip, something that sounded enough like him that it would dispel the worry in Porthos' dark eyes. But in the end, all he managed was a pathetic “I don't know” as he blinked again, feeling moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. That much was the truth – he had long lost track of when he slept, snatches and seconds here and there, maybe even half an hour at a time, but none of it feeling like he had truly slept and doing nothing to lighten the burden of fatigue weighing down on him.

Porthos looked at him a while longer, and Aramis felt himself swaying on his feet, clinging desperately to the last shreds of his self-control so he didn't break down right here, in Porthos' arms. Porthos huffed again and turned away. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I'm gonna talk to Athos.”

Aramis nodded helplessly, leaning back against the wall as Porthos released his grip. He drifted in his stupor until Porthos appeared again at his side and took his elbow in a strong grip. “So,” he announced, “we're going home. And you're going to sleep.”

“But,” Aramis sputtered, “our shift--”

“--is over now,” Porthos talked over him. “Don't worry about it.” He steered Aramis through the Palace's halls, paying little attention to anything else and overriding all of Aramis' weak protests. Finally, Aramis gave in – not that he expected that he would actually sleep, no matter how much Porthos wanted to help. What could he do, really? He could not take his thoughts away.

The ride to the Garrison was a blur in his mind, as was the walk up to his rooms – no, wait, these were Porthos' rooms. Aramis looked around, at a loss why Porthos had brought him here.

Porthos walked him to his bed, sat him down and sat back on his haunches before him, meeting his gaze with a dark scowl. In any other, this would have looked fearsome but even in his fragile state, Aramis could not help but know this look. This was Porthos at his most protective.

“Alright,” his friend started, “here's how I see it. There's somethin' goin' on that don't let you sleep. Don't tell me it's Madame One-or-another or Mademoiselle So-and-so. I know what you look like when you're tired because you've been enjoying yourself. So it's somethin' else, and you're not talkin' to me about it. Or the others.”

Aramis could do nothing more than nod dumbly. All of his usual light banter had dried up, and he knew it had gone too far, anyway. Porthos would never accept diversion now.

“So this is how it's gonna go,” Porthos continued. “We're goin' to bed now. And I won't ask, and you don't have to talk. But you will sleep.”

“I can't,” Aramis choked out.

“You will,” Porthos repeated confidently. “Because you know I'm here, and I've got your back.”

Aramis shook his head and leaned forward, burying his hands in his hair. “No, Porthos, Porthos, please,” he begged without knowing what he was asking for, “I can't, I--”

Porthos' hands closed around his wrists, and he tugged until Aramis had no choice but lift his head and meet his gaze. “Trust me,” Porthos implored.

There was only one reply to that: “Always.”

Porthos nodded, satisfied. “Come on.” He helped Aramis shed his doublet and boots, then guided him until he lay prone on Porthos' bed. Aramis let it happen, past refusal and past hope. He listened to Porthos moving around the room, closing the curtains so the room was dipped into a half-light, then shedding his own outer layers and crawling into the bed behind him. Porthos' arms closed around Aramis and pulled him back to his chest, his bulk shadowing him. The warmth emanating from that broad chest seemed to sink right into his bones, and he only now became aware of how cold he had been. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it, into the strength and protection promised by the arms folded around him. Even if he could not sleep, he could rest here, knowing that his friend was here and did not want to pry, wanted nothing but for him to be warm and comfortable and get better.

Porthos' voice was a balm as he whispered: “Sleep, Aramis. I have your back.” It stripped him bare but at the same time, enveloped him like a warm blanket. Trust me, Porthos had asked, and he did, with a child's simple knowledge that no evil could touch him here. Not even the nightmare of his own creation that his life had been recently.

“Sleep,” Porthos repeated, and with a deep sigh, Aramis let go.

He slept.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #fanfic #the musketeers #flower writes #aramis #porthos #insomnia

12 notes · View notes

clydesgod · 4 years ago

Text

The coming

Feat. Richard, Vitalis, Krista

(This is just a lil drabble so, there shouldn’t be any major themes to worry about. just enjoy. Sorry if I there’s some grammar or spelling errors hehe)

As the sun rose from it’s concrete horizon, Richard let out a large yawn as he struggled to put his shirt on. He had been trained on how to do it without anything getting caught on his horns, but it was awfully hard when you took into consideration that Richard hardly remembered much, especially when he just woke up not even half an hour ago. Not only was he changing his shirt, he was also cooking. Fried eggs, soaked in olive oil. Hardly a healthy option but it was one that got him in a good mood in the morning. Well, minus the fact both of the yolks had burst. He didn’t care either way. Sort of.

As he finished cooking them and moving them onto a plate, he couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of dread loom over his shoulders. Was it the hangover? No, couldn’t be. Sure, he felt like trash in a landfill, but he never felt like something awful was about to happen.

“‘Scuseeeeeee me,” asked the shorter demon as he pushed past Richard and his plate so he could open the fridge and raid it, like every morning. “Do we still have any leftovers from last night?”

Richard scoffed, picking up his plate and moving towards the main living room with an almost ragged couch and a plain looking coffee table. “Chinese for breakfast? I’d hardly say peking duck with a side of spring onion is the best choice of food to start the day with.” He commented, sighing somewhat as he looked down at his rather sad looking fried eggs. They’d be good for now anyway. He could easily go to the store later.

“Sorry for being so unclassy mr ‘ramen at 4am’,” Vitalis spat, closing the fridge as he then began to raid the other cupboards. “Surely there have to be some pop tarts here or something. You didn’t throw them away did you?”

“You mean the ones that went out 3 months ago?” Richard replied.

“Yeah. The strawberry ones.”

“Yeah I threw them out.”

The shorter demon groaned, collapsing to his knees and looking down at himself. “I’m going to staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarve!” He moaned in a very monotone voice. He was always an actor, even to the very end. “I always knew this would be how I’d die. With an empty stomach and whilst my favourite cousin eats in front of my face.”

Richard, who hadn’t even taken a bite, rolled his eyes and held the plate towards him. “You want these ones then?”

Dropping his sad act, the shorter demon looked up, squinting as he looked over at the plate. “Bleh, as if. Those are the saddest eggs I’ve ever seen.”

“Suit yourself, more for me...I guess.”

“Are you really going to not get me something? Like order a McDonald’s maybe?”

“No. Wait-”

“Aww common. I know you want one of those sausage burgers, or even the pancakes.~”

Richard put his plate and cutlery down, letting it clank against the coffee table. “Wait-”

“Boooooo you’re no fun. I’ll order some but that means I won’t be able to pay for rent for a whil-”

“Shut the fuck up! Didn’t you hear what I said?” Richard turned, his expression which previously looked like he just woke up 5 minutes ago, now looked like he realised where this strange sense of dread was coming from. He stood up, looking around the room as Vitalis started to pick up what he was feeling. He felt it too, through his hunger.

A creak was heard, as if someone was walking right outside the apartment. That shouldn’t even be at all weird, they hear people moving past this place all the time. Why was something off now? Was it the sound of their heels? The way they were moving slowly? No. Something about this person’s aura was ringing alarms in the demons’ heads. Vitalis moved quickly, hiding behind the couch as Richard attempted to follow suit.

A knock was heard. Was this a trick? Surely someone was trying to break in, no? That should’ve been the reason for this strange sense, surely. Richard slowly turned, facing the door. He looked back at Vitalis, who shrugged.

“I ain’t answering’ that fucking door!” He whispered loudly, pointing over behind him. “You go and do it! It’s your apartment!”

Richard gulped, turning his body around as he stared at the door. Why was this feeling familiar? It was like he forgot something and was about to face the consequences of that action. Why though? He sent a birthday card to his granddad last month, what could he be forgetting? He kept moving forward, his hand hesitantly reaching over at the locks as the doorknob fidgeted slightly. Someone wanted to get in.

Another knock. Richard recoiled a bit, but carried on moving on towards the door, undoing all of the security chains and latches he had installed when he first moved in. He was told it was a safe area...but you can never be so sure.

Vitalis had dived down behind the couch, hands covering his head as he awaited a possible fight, maybe a huge explosion? He didn’t know what Richard usually got up so it really could’ve been anything. Maybe even a dragon? Or worse, the landlord. Him and Richard grit their teeth, preparing for anything as the taller demon slowly turned the handle on the door. Who was it? What could he possibly have forgotten? Slowly, he opened the door when-

It stopped. Oh no. The door was jammed, whoever was outside was trying to trap them from the inside. That had to be it. It was one of the villains he had to deal with every day and now they were here to seek revenge and kill-

Oh. Wait. No. Richard looked down, realizing he forgot to undo the last latch to the door. “A-Ah. S-sorry. One second.” He nervously said, unsure as to why he would even let someone know about his current predicament. He quickly undid the last lock, slowly opening the door now. Why did he feel like he had to urgently open this door all of a sudden? As if he didn’t want to disappoint whoever was on the other side.

As the door opened, Richard began to ponder quickly on whom it would’ve been. He thought about all of the emotions and feelings leading up to this point. Dread, forgetfulness, worry, haste, urgency, disapointment. He gulped once more, knowing there was one way to find out.

The door opened. Richard had his eyes closed as he had braced himself for whatever was behind there. Strange though, he wasn’t being beaten around at all. That’s what he was sort of expecting. He opened his eyes, slowly at first but then quickly as he recognised that face anywhere.

“W-What are you- how did you even know- how- I- What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think you could get away with that?”

Richard took a step back, gulping before he replied. “G-get away with what?”

“Hmph.

Getting away

without saying...”

“Hello!” Said Krista, who at this point had just thrown her arms around Richard, trapping him in a hug. She was taller than Richard, but that was mainly thanks to those heels she wore. She hugged him for a while, with Richard trying to push away from her.

Eventually she let go of him, allowing the wrath demon to stumble back and fall onto the couch.

“Mom??? What do you mean??? Since when were you visiting?” He asked, not raising his voice so as to not fear her wrath.

“You didn’t need to know that,” she replied back, closing the door behind her as she entered the apartment, having a look around at the state everything was in. “Oh my goodness, you left this place in a better state than your bedroom at home.”

“Speaking of,” she looked back at Richard, her gaze piercing as she squinted and frowned her brow. “Me, your father, your siblings, and your grandparents, sent you a lot of lovely St David’s day messages on your phone. And what do we get? Nothing. I asked your father, he received nothing. Rhys? Nothing. Gwyneth? Nothing. Your father’s parents? Zilch! And what do I get? An ungrateful son who doesn’t even ask how his dear mother is doing.”

She huffed, crossing her arms as she looked away from her son. Richard, at this point, was looking almost terrified.

“Aaaaaaa-I swear I forgot! I-I had a bit too much to drink last night so the texta sort of went over my head. I was going to reply to them but I just, sort of-”

“Oh don’t you bring up that ‘forgetfulness’ thing again,” she interrupted, looking back at Richard with a huff. “This would never have happened if you stopped drinking like we asked you to do! It’s so unhealthy!”

“...But Rhys is allowed to smoke-”

“Did I say you had permission to interrupt me?”

“I-I mean. S-sorry mom.”

“As I was saying,” she continued, pacing around the room, looking about at everything. “Your dear mother was so worried for you, I decided I just had to pay you a visit. It didn’t help that I had to knock about 3 times. You made me worried sick!”

“I’m so sorry!” Richard replied, clasping his hands together and looking up at his mother as if he was begging for his life. “I don’t mean to make you worry! I swear I forgot. I swear! I promise I’ll reply to every text I get from you and dad!”

Krista stared at Richard for a while, eyes squinting as she loomed over Richard. She looked furious...until her expression suddenly changed as she closed her eyes and let out a brief giggle.

“Alright. I forgive you lil Dewi,” She reached over, patting his head as she moved over onto the couch, sitting herself down and placing a brown paper bag onto the coffee table. “Those are some sad looking eggs dear, so I hope you can forgive me for bringing fast food for you. I know you always love those McMuffin things with that round egg in them.”

“Did someone say McMuffin?” Vitalis said, popping his head up whilst keeping a safe distance away from Krista.

“What did your mother teach you Vitty?”

“...Hello Mrs Clydesgod may I please have some breakfast please and thank you.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached into the bag and brought out a wrapped meal just for him. She reached on over, letting him take it so he could slowly sink down behind the couch.

“Where did you even get that from?” Richard asked, who looked on over at the bag as well. “Er- may I have one too...please.”

“A rather long way to say ‘please’ don’t you think Dewi?” She joked, handing him his own meal. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve already eaten today.”

Having his question unanswered, Richard simply unwrapped his meal and dug in. He was used to being disappointed by the amount of answers his mother was good at not giving him. She wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon, wasn’t she.

“I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon by the way.”

Fuck.

“You haven’t spoken to any of your family for quite a while and I think that should be changed. I’m sure your father would agree.” Krista stated, resting her hands on her lap as she looked over at Richard.

“There’s no way Rhys and Gwyneth are going to stay here. There’s no room and I’d rather die than be in the same room as Rhys of all people.”

Krista gasped, placing a hand on her chest as her brows arched upwards. “How could you say such a thing! About your eldest brother too! I thought you and Rhys were good friends.”

“We were until he dated my crush, knowing damn well she was my crush ,15 years ago.”

“Tut tut tut, that’s no good reason as to not interact with him at all.” Krista crossed her arms again, a move that always made goosebumps appear on Richard’s arms. “I will not force them to come. But knowing them, they’ll find their way over here eventually. There’s nothing much you can do about that.”

“Yeah...I know.” He carried on eating, enjoying the breakfast she had brought for them silently.

“Let me know if you need any money for your rent, Dewi.” She added, standing up and taking the brown bag with her.

“W-wait. You’re going already?” He asked, almost choking on a bit of sausage in the process of asking.

“Why, yes! I’m still yet to check into my hotel room! I’ll text you where I’ll be staying if you want to see me or to introduce me to any of your lovely friends!” She made her way towards the door, opening it and pausing at the door way. She looked back, her eyes squinting ever so slightly as she spoke.

“I do expect a reply this time dear.”

Richard gulped, with Krista closing her eyes and letting out a little giggle. “Hwyl! Bore da!”

“Bore...da...mam…” Upon her closing the door, Richard was left dumbfounded, his mouth somewhat agape as the feeling of dread began to return.

Vitalis peaked up from behind the couch, looking at the coffee table.

“So...are you going to eat those eggs?”

Richard looked back, trying to resist the urge to slap him before resting his head back against the couch and rubbing his face with both hands.

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

#{lore}#{dyn gafr🐐 : Richard Clydesgod}#{jackalope🐇 : Vitalis Megalos}#{the unnameable🐙 : Krista Clydesgod}#// AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I HOPE PEOPLE LIKE THIS #// I don't write this long because i feel like i go off topic quite a bit ;w;#// I hope this is a good ready for some people #// if I made some mistakes pleaaaaaase let me know owo

7 notes · View notes

doing-all-write · 5 years ago

Text

act two, scene two

Pairing: College!Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe is in your Acting 101 class and you’re never quite sure if your flirty relationship is just pretend or the real thing. Then, you’re given the scene you’ll have to present during your final...

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, drinking and me fantasizing about how adorable and dorky college!Joe would be.

A/N: Between working from home and social distancing myself, your girl has SO MUCH free time so GET READY FOR LOTS OF WRITING!!! I hope everyone is doing okay during these Weird Fucking Times but here’s some soft and smutty Joe to get you through!

Thanks to @fairestkillerqueenofall, @mrhoemazzello, and @diasimar for the inspiration and for being the best dang #LizardLadies around 💖

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

“Room 102...room 102...room 102...there you are.” Realizing she’d been mumbling to herself underneath her breath, her (Y/E/C) eyes flitted over the hall, making sure no one had heard her talking to herself.

Heaving a sigh, she gave a little shimmy, shaking off the nervous energy that was buzzing under her skin like bees and opened the door to the classroom.

Well, not a real classroom. It was a blackbox. When she had chosen her major for college, she couldn’t completely get rid of the dream where she majored in theatre and got to spend her life doing something that she loved. So, when her counselor had asked her, she’d given a double major. Something “practical” and theatre. She knew if she didn’t have that creative outlet, her world would become drab and gray.

Walking into the room, the sounds of murmured conversations flooded her eardrums, the old wood floors sending shock waves up her calves with every “clunk” of her heeled boots. She knew the next few moments would be crucial.

Choosing a seat.

She knew that wherever she sat today would be her seat for the rest of the semester. With the pivotal task hanging over her, she scanned the bodies that were already crammed into seats. The first row was filled with girls with bouncy curls, long legs, cute sundresses, all of them loudly clamoring to get information from the girl in the middle holding court with her story of how she had met the cast of Mean Girls by the stage door over the summer.

In the last row were a few kids dressed all in black, heads down, beanies firmly planted as they scribbled into moleskine notebooks.

In the middle, random pockets of students, mostly keeping to themselves, one or two had struck up conversations asking the basic questions, “What’s your major” “What did you do over the summer” “How embarrassing do you think this class will be” etc.

Her eyes lit upon a boy sitting toward the end of a row in the middle of the desks. All she could make out was his ginger hair as he rooted around in his backpack. It was sticking up in several directions, like he constantly ran his fingers through it. She couldn’t help thinking she’d like to run her fingers through it one day. Taking a deep breath, she decided the middle, end of the row was the best spot for her. Hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder, she started climbing the stairs, keeping an eye on him as he was now elbow deep in his backpack, muttering to himself.

Sliding into the seat one down from him, she swung her hair over her shoulder, aiming a small smile at him as he paused in his actions to stare at her with wide eyes. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she ducked her head to pull out her own notebook, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide the blush climbing from her neck up into her cheeks.

Stupid. Joe scolded himself as he shook himself from his dazed state. Why he didn’t just smile back at her was beyond him. He chalked it up to being stunned by her beauty and being slightly confused why someone so beautiful was paying any attention to him.

That, and he was pretty hungover.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he realized that he must have forgotten a pencil, the most basic school instrument, in his haste to get out the door and make it to class on time.

“Do you, um, do you need to borrow a pencil?” His eyes darted up to meet her (Y/E/C) ones and let a smile grow over his face (finally, she thought) as he nodded. Smiling back, she quickly darted a hand into her backpack only to pull out a pencil pouch covered in cacti. He felt his smile grow bigger at how cute it was.

“Here you go.” She handed him a mechanical pencil and he accepted it with a thanks, “I’ll give it back at the end of class, promise.”

She waved him off, “No, no. Don’t worry about it, I accidentally bought a pack of 500 pencils so you’re doing me a favor by taking one off my hands.”

Joe cocked his head, “How do you end up with 500 pencils?” She opened her mouth but before she could defend herself, the door swung open and a woman draped in what looked like the whole curtain section of a home goods store came striding into the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Thespians! Thespians! Thespians! Listen up! Your start to a long and lucrative career in the arts begins...immediately.” She proclaimed as she swanned onto the stage in front of them, hands waving, the many rings she wore reflecting the stage lights all over the room, creating a make-shift disco ball.

“Either she has a lisp and called us all lesbians or I signed up for the wrong class.” Joe whispered as he leaned over to her. Her mouth quirked up in a smirk as she finished dating the page she was writing on in her notebook. Joe glanced down to see she had written the date and the name of the class in pink pen and felt a surge of adoration at her adorable actions.

As class continued, (Y/N) thanked her lucky stars at her chosen seat. This boy next to her was cute and funny, which was a lethal combination for her, but part of her was worried that she may have something on her face, considering the way he had just stared at her with no reaction for a long time when she initially sat next to him.

For the rest of class, they kept stealing glances at each other, eyes sometimes meeting, smiles exchanged when it happened, as Professor Lily waxed poetic on the arts and why theatre is the best thing one can do to “expand the mind, the body and most importantly, the heart.”

She had let her mind wander to what it would be like to run her fingers through her seat mate's hair but was snapped back to the present when Lily started talking about their final.

“Now. For the final, I will be assigning you and a partner a scene to perform for us at the end of the semester. This will be completely random but I’d like to get it done now so you and your scene partner can start thinking about it and preparing. Acting is all about the nuance, the tiny details you can make a whole meal out of.” She fluttered down from the stage, pairing people at random.

(Y/N) suddenly found herself desperately wishing that she and the boy next to her would be made partners.

Joe clenched his hands into fists as he jiggled his leg up and down, hoping beyond hope that he and the girl next to him would be paired up.

As Professor Lily came to them, her eyes softened, gesturing a hand grandly to Joe she proclaimed, “Mister…” letting it trail off so he could fill in the blank.

“Mazzello. Joe Mazzello.” she nodded sagely as she gestured to the girl next to him, “and Miss…”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” she promptly filled in.

“You two shall be working together.” As she floated down the stairs she couldn’t help but indulge a tiny smile as she considered the scene she would give them to perform.

Turning to Joe, (Y/N) smiled, “Hey partner.”

“Hey partner.” Joe returned in a bad southern accent as he pretended to hitch up suspenders.

“I don’t know why you’re in this class, it seems like you don’t need a lot of acting help.” she laughed as she closed her notebook, twisting in her seat to face Joe head on. Smirking, he draped an arm over the back of his chair, “I’m just here to show everyone else how it’s done. I’m very generous like that.”

“You’re too good to us peons. How can we ever repay you?”

“By not making me look like an ass during the final.”

“No promises on that front.” she deadpanned as she closed her notebook, tucking it back into her bag that was covered in patches and pins.

“You think you have enough hardware on your bag?”

Pushing her hair behind her ear, her eyes flicked up to meet his as a smile grew over her face, “Honestly? No. I have a problem.” She shrugged as she straightened up.

Joe smiled back as he scooted his chair closer to her, “The first step is admitting you have a problem so I’m proud of you for taking that first step.”

Rolling her eyes, she contemplated the boy before her. His eyes were bright as he stared boldly back at her. He never sat still, even now, his leg was bouncing up and down like a maniac. It made her want to reach a hand out and settle it on his thigh, hoping to translate some calm from her body to his just through her touch but knew that would be a step too forward at this stage.

“Well listen, I think this partnership is going to work but like you said, I don’t want to look like an ass, when are you free?”

~~~

Weeks had passed. The glow of those first few easy classes had passed into rigorous studying, hours filled with homework and group projects with everyone trying to figure out when they could fit in sleep and socializing.

With finals looming closer, the semester had started taking its toll on (Y/N). Her classes all bled together, as did the piles of reading she had every night. But even when she started googling how much people would pay for feet pictures, she never dreaded her acting class. It was her favorite part of the week. For 50 minutes, three times a week, she got to do what she loved most. Even Professor Lily’s eccentricity had become a balm and reminded her to stop taking everything so seriously.

As Lily had put it once “you all need to stop being so serious, no one likes an actor who takes their work too seriously. Look at Jared Leto!”

That had snapped them out of their melancholy.

As (Y/N) walked into the Black Box, fidgeting with the strap of her backpack, she cursed the fact that she had chosen to wear a dress, considering how chilly it was in the classroom but as she climbed the stairs to her seat next to Joe, it was worth it to see his eyes light up when they fell on her form. As the weeks had passed, they had struck up an easy reparatie. A lot of times, (Y/N) had no idea if they were really flirting or just play-flirting. It was easy to get swept up in believing that the sparks between them were real enough to explode into something more but then Joe would look away or she’d get too in her head and the moment would be lost and they’d go back to their usual friendly banter.

The scene Lily had given them definitely didn’t help her confusion.

~~~

“Act two, scene two.” Joe wiggled his eyebrows at her as she walked down the row of chairs at the start of their third class together.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she slowly lowered into her chair, “Okay?”

Leaning forward, Joe raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, adding an even crazier level of insanity to his look as he strained forward, trying to make her understand, “Act two, scene two.” he hissed again.

“Mazzello, did you have a stroke? Those words mean nothing to me…” her voice drifted off as Lily’s ethereal form materialized in front of her, “I believe Mr. Mazzello is referring to the scene I assigned you for your final.” Pulling a stack of papers from within the folds of her scarfs, she grandly laid them on (Y/N)’s desk and floated back to the front of the room, where she began lecturing.

Cutting her eyes over to Joe’s she was surprised to see some hesitancy in them as he nodded at her to flip through their pages. Shrugging, she leaned forward and felt her breath catch in her throat as she recognized the lines.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Her head whipped up and met Joe’s.

Joe hadn’t realized how nervous he had been to see her reaction to the scene they had been given until he saw a spark in her eyes and her lips curled into a smile as he held her gaze, letting a wink drop at her. Giggling, she turned to rustle through her backpack and Joe almost dropped the highlighter she tossed at his chest.

“Well? Get highlighting Romeo, we have some romantic tension to work on.” she whispered as she popped the cap off her own highlighter.

~~~

As Lily dismissed them all for the day, Joe groaned and let his forehead bang on his desk as she calmly continued packing up her things.

“What’s wrong, Joey?” her only reply as Joe continued to huff out sigh after sigh to get a reaction from her.

“I can’t do it anymore, (Y/N). The pressure, it’s getting to me. It’s all too much.”

“What? The pressure of being Lily’s favorite student? Or just the weight of having to carry every scene we do in class?”

“Yes.” He moaned as he rolled his head to the side, only one eye visible as he stared at her trying to hold back a smirk at his dramatics. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m distraught.”

“Too distraught to rehearse tonight?”

“Yes.” came the muffled reply as he buried his head in his arms.

“I have a new bottle of wine, a fresh bag of goldfish and I booked the auditorium.”

“Okay, not as distraught anymore. I think I can make it.”

“Thought so.” she said as she patted him on the shoulder.

~~~

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet,” her voice flowed over Joe like the first breeze of spring. He was sure that if anyone was to watch them rehearsing, the only note they’d give Joe was to “tone down” the mooning he felt himself doing as he watched (Y/N) act.

His eyes couldn’t radiate anymore love than they already were. He almost felt embarrassed for himself but figured if they really wanted to pass this class then, maybe over the top was better.

As (Y/N) finished up the last part of her lines, she felt her cheeks heat up as Joe locked her in place with his ardent gaze. She felt a smile tug at her lips as his own grew wider as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms on the top of the ladder she was standing on.

Clasping the ladder with both hands, Joe pushed his own body forward as he delivered his next few lines, knowing the smile growing across his face was getting out of hand but not being able to stop it. Her eyes were dancing with mirth as her smile blossomed.

They had set up their stuff in the middle of the stage, (Y/N) pulling out a bottle of wine with two red solo cups (“You couldn’t find anything classier than Red Solo cups?” “Do you want some cheap wine or not?” “I never said I didn’t want it (Y/N).”) and Joe flinging his body onto the ground, complaining about everything he had due until she’d threatened to spill the whole bottle on his face. With that threat looming large, Joe had scoured backstage to find something they could use as a balcony.

She’d almost jumped out of her skin when Joe had pulled the ladder to the middle of the stage with enough noise to wake the dead, as was his M.O.

They’d been rehearsing their scene for the past hour. They had their lines word perfect, they knew their blocking but every time they got to the end, they both felt the urge to kiss each other; but as their characters or as themselves was still up in the air. Each time they spoke their last lines, the silence would hang, the air crackling between them until one, or both of them, would pull away and ask if they should “run it one more time?”

Their argument being that maybe running it “one more time” would unlock something MORE in their words and their actions.

They both agreed that Lily would really approve of that decision.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow! That I shall say good night till it be morrow…” (Y/N) breathed out as their eyes locked together, both of them moving forward infinitesimally.

It’s finally going to happen. Her heart leaped into her throat as Joe glanced down at her lips but then, he blushed and cleared his throat. Turning away, he asked if there was more wine.

Blinking herself from the haze, she nodded numbly, stepping down from the ladder only to be stopped by Joe’s hand by her side, “May I help you down from your balcony, fair Juliet?”

Giggling, she slipped her hand into Joe’s, marveling at how well they fit together as she stepped down from the ladder, turning only to be face to face with Joe again.

Looking down at her, Joe smirked, “Hello there.”

“Hi” she whispered, looking up at Joe through her eyelashes. It made Joe want to fall to his knees and promise her anything she wanted if she just always looked at him like that.

This time, she was the one to break away first, grabbing his cup from the ground as she sauntered over to the bottle, sweating underneath the stage lights.

Handing it back to him they both took a long sip. Bringing his cup down, Joe scrunched his face, “Jesus, this wine is awful.”

“Grow up Mazzello, it’s good for you. Plus it was only $5, what did you expect?”

Shrugging his shoulders in defeat, he finished the last gulp of wine, cocking an eyebrow at (Y/N), “Want to run it again?”

Throwing her head back she dramatically finished her wine, Joe taking the opportunity to admire her throat and thinking how it would look covered in hickies he left. Shaking himself, he realized the wine must have loosened him up more than he thought.

“Let’s do this one more time, I’m going to be the best damn Juliet this school has ever seen.” she proclaimed as she scrambled up the ladder again, looking back over her shoulder at Joe, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

Joe chuckled as he got into place underneath her. By the time he nodded at her to start the scene he felt his heart expand as he looked up at her, her hair glowing underneath the lights, her eyes dreamily looking out over the horizon, talking about how in love she was with him.

Well, not me me, but my character. She’s a good actress, it’s easy to get swept up in the drama of it all, he reasoned with himself.

As the scene got closer and closer to the end, he made herself promise he wouldn’t wimp out of kissing her. The wine they’d consumed left him feeling a little braver. So, as she breathed out her last line, bidding Joe farewell, and they locked eyes it was the wine that helped push the words past Joe’s lips.

“We should probably practice kissing, huh?”

Before the last word had passed his lips, (Y/N) reached out, grasping the collar of the worn gray t-shirt he was wearing and pulled him to her, crashing her lips against his.

His arms reached up, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him as their lips fit together perfectly. Winding a hand through her hair, he felt like if he were to be struck dead in the next moment, he would die happy.

As her hands interlocked behind Joe’s neck, she got the feeling she had done this a million times before and would do it a million more times.

When they finally pulled away, they both were breathing heavily, her forehead leaning against Joe’s as they looked at each and giggled, “I think if we bring that kind of heat to the performance they’ll fail us for being too graphic.” Joe breathed out as she laughed, planting another quick kiss to his lips. “Yeah but, it’s worth it.” she murmured as she blinked up at Joe through her eyelashes. Joe groaned as he pressed his lips against hers again, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that right?” Her only response was to deepen the kiss as Joe growled against her mouth.

“You know, we’re the only ones in this auditorium, and we’ll be the only ones in here for the next three hours…” Joe let his voice trail off as he searched (Y/N)’s face to see if she was into this idea. Her widening eyes and the way she scrambled down the ladder, pulling Joe down with her, was the only indication he needed.

As she hit the ground, her head swiveled, trying to find the best place for them to have a private moment together. Tugging her towards the other side of the stage, she turned her head, only to be met with a large couch that had been pushed backstage after the last play. It was hidden by the curtains so if someone were to walk in, they wouldn’t immediately be seen but it was still fairly exposed which sent a shiver up her spine.

As Joe took a seat on the couch, he pulled her down to his lap, shooting a smile at her, “C’mere,” he whispered as he pulled her down to his lips, pushing her hair over her shoulders as he nipped at her earlobe before he pressed a line of kisses down her neck. Moaning softly, she started grinding into Joe’s lap, feeling the outline of his cock through his jeans, causing both of them to moan.

Joe halfheartedly tried to shush her, “Shhh, we need to be quiet...even though you moaning is probably the hottest thing I’ll ever hear in my whole life.”

Those words only made her throw her head back and moan louder. Grabbing the back of her neck, Joe craned his neck up to mash his lips against hers in a desperate effort to quiet her. His hands moved from their grip on her waist to travel up to grasp her tits, letting his own moan slip out as he gently rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples.

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” she whispered as he moaned again, leaning forward to suck on the peak of her nipple through the fabric of her dress. Grinding her hips harder into Joe’s cock practically had her seeing stars, she hadn’t realized how wound up she was or how long she’d wanted this to happen.

Joe’s mouth continued working on her chest as his hands travelled to her ass, grabbing it, giving it a light smack, then a harder one when she gasped and whispered, “harder” against his lips which almost had Joe cumming in his jeans like a twelve year old.

Feeling Joe’s hand slip from her ass to her thigh, his fingers dancing up and under the hem of the skirt of her dress, caused her breath to hitch as his fingers ran along the edge of her panties.

“These feel very hot.” he looked up at her with glazed over eyes.

Leaning forward, pressing her chest into Joe’s she whispered, “They are, but I was considering not wearing panties at all which I think would have been much hotter.”

Joe gulped audibly as he bobbed his head up and down, his fingers hooking into her panties, pulling them to the side as he ghosted a knuckle up and down her folds. He stared at her with wide eyes, “Damn, are you really that wet for me, sweetheart?” Nodding, she bit her lip, rocking her hips over Joe’s knuckle, relishing how it produced that familiar tugging sensation in her gut.

Joe smirked when he saw how much she wanted him. Slowly, he inserted a finger inside her, marveling how easily it slipped in and how it made her fling her head back and groan in a way that would have caused them considerable trouble if anyone was near the auditorium.

“I’m almost scared to insert another finger just in case you start screaming.” Joe laughed as he made a come hither motion with his finger, causing her body to go limp as she babbled about how badly she needed a second finger to cum.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want,” he smirked as he leaned up to whisper in her ear, “besides, I want to see what you look like when you cum for me anyway.” she groaned as Joe slowly slipped a second finger into her folds.

The heat that was building in her core was licking up her sides, rising through her, causing her hips to jerk over Joe’s fingers as they managed to find every sensitive spot in her cunt, hurling her closer and closer to an orgasm. Joe was still moving his fingers inside her, mouth open as he watched her eyes flutter close, hair falling over her shoulders as she pushed herself to her orgasm. He was in complete awe of her.

“That’s it baby, let go. Let go for me. Want you to cum all over my fingers, I want to taste you so badly…” he murmured into her ear as she bent forward, resting her hands on the back of the couch as she rode Joe’s fingers into oblivion.

Joe felt her walls clench around his fingers and wished it was his cock they were closing around but damn if this wasn’t still one of the best feelings in the world. Moaning, she choked out, “Joe…’m close.” Bringing his lips to her ear and his other hand to her ass, he gave it a sharp smack, pulling another moan out of her as he growled, “Then cum for me, baby girl.”

With those last two words and one more stroke of Joe’s fingers, she squeezed her eyes closed as her orgasm pulsed through her body, first in intense waves then a gentle lapping at her consciousness, pulling her back into the present. Feeling Joe’s arms wrapped around her as he whispered how amazing she was in her ear. Pulling back, she felt the dumb smile grow over her face and Joe’s own face lit up with how blissed out she looked.

“That good, huh?” She could only nod. Laughing, Joe brought up the two fingers that had been inside her. She saw how slick they were and gulped as Joe brought them up to his mouth. Wrapping his perfect lips around them and savoring the taste of her as he brought them out of his mouth with a pop.

“I can’t wait to do that with your cock.” She found herself blurting out. Joe’s eyes widened as hers lowered into a provocative stare.

“If you were that loud with just my fingers, I don’t think my cock is going to make you any quieter, want to get out of here?”

(Y/N) hopped off his lap, practically pulling him out of the auditorium to her apartment.

~~~

They ended up getting a 95% on their final and would have gotten a 100% but their kiss was “a little too long and lingering. And Mr. Mozzallo, I distinctly saw you slip Ms. (Y/L/N) some tongue. Other than that, wonderful performance. Truly, the sparks were flying!”

It had a place of honor on their fridge in their shared apartment.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzelo x reader #joe mazzello one shot #college!joe #joe mazzello smut #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fluff #theatre kids #joe mazzello imagine

197 notes · View notes

melancholicumsomnia · 4 years ago

Text

[FIC] A Little Miracle In The Volume Part 2

A/N: Here’s the second part of my fic contribution to PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK 2021! Part 2 focuses on the #ppaw2021 theme of the day, Favorite TV show Pedro starred in. Obviously, I still loved Pedro best in The Mandalorian, but his performance as Oberyn Martell in Game of Thrones was absolutely exquisite!

Thank you to @pedrohub for the incentive to write this little fic. To @pedrocentric, here is Part 2!

PREVIOUS PARTS

Part 1

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Little Miracle In The Volume

Rory

Part Two

Pedro was limping back to his trailer, struggling against the urge to massage his aching groin. He had just come from the Volume to film a scene with Gina Carano, who plays Cara Dune, and Misty Rosas, who was playing the Ugnaught Kuiil. It was a simple scene actually, requiring their characters to ride through the rugged terrain of Nevarro in order to make their rendezvous with Carl Weather’s Greef Karga. In the pre-vis, they were going to ride blurrgs. In reality, the blurrgs turned out to be mechanical bulls, but with a wider girth.

Brendan and Lateef had seen the dubious looks he was throwing at the machine and they couldn’t help laughing.

“Come on, man!” Lateef said in between wheezes. “There’s nothing to worry about. That thing won’t buck.”

“Hey! You can’t be Mando just by wearing the armor,” Brendan then goaded him. “You must ride the blurrg. Both Lateef and I have done it, so can you.”

Pedro let out a groan and gritted his teeth at that memory. Even his back was starting to ache in sympathy with his groin. “I guess I’m starting to feel my age. I really need to work out more.”

With his trailer looming not so far from him at last, he quickened his pace, wanting that ice pack he had his assistant prepare for him in the fridge.

Before he could reach it, however, Pedro’s eyes were drawn to Werner Herzog’s trailer nearby. The German director was seated in front of his trailer beneath a beach umbrella, the Child on his lap. He was watching something on his iPad, which was propped up on its stand on top of a small table. Pedro heard snickers and he whirled to see the puppeteers Tamara Woodard, Kan, and Trevor with remote controls in their hands, hiding behind the crates.

Deb Chow happened to be passing by and, when she saw the trio, she remarked, “You guys are the worst! You should really stop feeding that old man’s fantasies!”

“We just want to keep him happy,” Kan answered, flicking a knob so that Pedro saw Grogu’s ears go up. Sagely, he added, “We all know the stories about him and Klaus Kinski. We’re not taking any chances.” The others nodded in grim agreement, causing Deb to roll her eyes, mutter “I give up!” under her breath, and march off.

Curiosity getting the better of him in the end, Pedro cautiously approached that imperious figure. “Hi, what are you guys watching?”

Werner glanced briefly back at him and said dryly, “Oh, it’s you.” Going back to the TV show playing on his iPad, he replied, “Since you are playing our stoic bounty hunter, I thought I should explore your previous works. The Child and I were going to watch Narcos, but since it’s about Pablo Escobar, it might be too violent for the little one. So I figured the best option would be your episode in Game of Thrones.”

“Uhm, I don’t think Game of Thrones is also appropriate viewing for a kid that young,” Pedro commented in turn, only to realize what he just said. Wait! I’m talking about a puppet, not a real kid. Oh my God! This delusion is contagious! Grogu looked up then and gave him a sweet smile. But, then again, he’s so cute! Awww!

Werner’s lips pursed in a disapproving pout. “Yes, I know. I was pouring myself some iced tea when that scene of you in the brothel came on. I couldn’t cover the baby’s eyes fast enough, so he was able to catch an eyeful of ample bosoms and buttocks.” He glanced down at the baby sitting on his lap, wagging a finger. “Remember what Grandpa Werner told you. When you see a scene like that, you must never watch, you must never listen.”

Great! Pedro couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, just as Deb had done. Now, you’re quoting Grizzly Man at him.

At Werner’s remark, Grogu gazed up at Pedro again. There was no mistaking the now lecherous, toothy grin on his little face and the enthusiastic bobbing up and down of his brows.

Scowling, Pedro turned to the mischievous puppeteers. He mouthed out to them, “Guys! What the fuck?”

In reply, the puppeteers gave him thumbs up and wide, conniving smirks.

“I should say though,” Werner then began thoughtfully, “I am very impressed with your performance here. Oberyn Martell, a proud, head-strong, and seductive prince desiring revenge for his poor sister… In other actors, the arrogance would overwhelm their performance, making him a figure to be detested or, worse, a caricature of similar characters in past films. But, no, behind that façade is kindness and gentleness. It’s because of your eyes, I think, and your voice. You’re speaking with a Latino accent in this one. You are from Mexico?”

“No, Chile actually.”

“You have a splendid way of expressing your emotions through tone of voice. Very few actors can do that. Brilliant performance, young man,” Werner gave that reluctant praise. “I can see why they chose you to play the Mandalorian. Even if you are not wearing the armor, you can still carry the character on your voice alone. How old were you when you did this?” “

“Uh, 38, 39, I guess.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I’m 43.” Pedro was not sure where this line of questioning was going.

“And it is only now that Hollywood has taken notice of your talent.” The German director shook his head ruefully. “Hollywood has become too reliant on the so-called ‘star power.’ I dread to think about the other precious little stars who are going unnoticed.”

Pedro was touched by Werner’s words. “It’s okay, sir. I’ve paid my dues, done my share of waiting on tables as a struggling actor. In fact, after working on Game of Thrones, I couldn’t find a single job. It took months before I got a recurring role on another TV show, The Mentalist.”

“Now, you have made it at last.”

“I’m not letting this current success get to my head. I know just how fickle Hollywood can be. To be very honest, I still don’t have that confidence. All this…” He raised his hands to the media campus surrounding them. “…All the work that I’ve been doing in the past few months, it still seems like a dream to me.”

“And that’s a very good attitude to have. Always be true to yourself. Show people who you truly are.” A wry, fond smile formed on Werner’s lips. “I suddenly remembered Klaus Kinski. He had been extremely difficult. He was a man with serious mental health problems. But he never sought to disguise his true self. It made it very hard for people like me, his family, and other people around him. Despite his foul temper, his brutality, it is that frank, straight-in-your-face honesty, I think that’s what I admired most about him.”

Pedro chuckled. “At least, I’m not hot-tempered like Klaus Kinski.”

A towering hulk of a man marched onscreen on the iPad and Werner gasped. “That is no man! That’s a grizzly bear!”

“That’s Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson, one of the world’s strongest men. He played Ser Gregor Clegane, aka ‘The Mountain Who Rides’, in Game of Thrones.”

At that moment, a bright idea suddenly came into Pedro’s head. Should I dare ask him now? He did just praise me after all. Maybe he is already starting to accept me. Okay, I will!

“Uhm, Mr. Herzog?” Pedro began shyly. “Since you liked my past performances and appreciate my worth as an actor, may you please allow me to spend more time with the baby?”

Werner turned to him sharply, his eyes flashing like daggers. “I appreciate your worth as an actor, true. But it absolutely has nothing to do with caring for this baby.”

Pedro was crestfallen. Still, he persisted, “Sir, please. I promise you that I will and can take good care of the baby. My sister Javiera…she often entrusts the care of her kids to me.”

“But they are not your children! You are a bachelor.” Werner looked him straight in the eye. “How could you be a father to this Child when you aren’t one?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, sir, this Child is a puppet.”

“Then how can you commit to playing a father when you cannot immerse yourself in the fantasy?”

“But how can I commit when you’re keeping the Child all to yourself?”

“I have only three episodes to do in this TV show. I want to make the most of this time I have with him. We have just started filming. You have an entire season to bond with him!”

“No, I don’t! I still have to finish my commitments with Wonder Woman 1984. I only have a single episode with the Child this season, so my time here is short!”

Because the two men were arguing heatedly, none of them noticed that the Child was still watching the episode on the iPad. He was staring enrapt as the trial by combat between Oberyn Martell and the Mountain commenced. Many times, Grogu would look closely at Oberyn’s face and then gaze up admiringly at Pedro.

But then, the Mountain struck back with a vicious blow, knocking out Oberyn’s teeth. As the Child watched in growing horror, the Mountain placed his fingers over Oberyn’s eyes and pressed down.

Both Pedro and Werner were shocked when Grogu let out a high-pitched scream, his eyes wide and waving his little arms frantically. A quick glance at the iPad and Pedro realized why Grogu was in a state of mortal terror.

Before Werner could stop him, Pedro scooped the distraught Child up and started rocking him, patting his back. Grogu kept shaking his little head, rubbing his brow over the soft cloth of the cape hanging above Pedro’s collarbone.

“Sssh! Don’t cry, Grogu,” Pedro whispered soothingly in his ear, being careful that Werner did not hear the Child’s name. “It’s just a TV show. As you can see, I’m okay. He never hurt me.” To his relief, his gentle reassurances gradually calmed the Child down.

Still stunned to silence, Werner could only watch with mouth agape as Pedro placed Grogu back on his lap. To his credit, the Child raised his arms to him, wanting more hugs. Despite his longing, Pedro just gave the little one a gentle smile and a pat on the head.

“Stop watching my past works with the Child,” Pedro scolded the German filmmaker. “None of them are appropriate for kids, except for that one Touched By An Angel episode. I wouldn’t even recommend The Great Wall because he might get scared of the Tao Tei monsters.”

Having given the final word, Pedro limped off to his trailer to get that ice pack and some much-needed rest.

Neither man noticed the perplexed group of puppeteers behind them, all of them staring down at their remote controls. Kan even took to giving his controls little shakes.

When their fellow puppeteer Jason Matthews came over, Trevor asked him, “Hey, Jason! Were you controlling the puppet just now?”

“No, I was in a meeting with Dave.”

Tamara interrupted, “Did you install a mic on the kid because we just heard him scream?”

Jason stared back at them. “What mic? You know that any baby noises will be added by the sound guys later.”

Kan gripped a startled Jason’s arms. “We saw the Child move…by itself! And he also screamed, like a real baby!”

Jason grabbed Kan’s hands and slowly lowered them. “Get a grip, will ya? It’s probably just a minor malfunction. Get the puppet from Mr. Herzog and we’ll check it out.”

“But…but…”

“No buts! You shouldn’t have been playing with it to begin with. You AND Mr. Herzog.”

The puppeteers then walked off, leaving his confused crew behind.

“But…but…we did see the Child move by itself!” they argued back feebly.

TO BE CONTINUED

#ppaw2021 #miracle in the volume fic #real person fic #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedrocentric

4 notes · View notes

shrapnelsong · 4 years ago

Text

@setternine asked: “You can beg better than that, I think.” [ Sunday Special Starters & Symbols ]

Her newest song deviated a bit from her usual style. It’d been commissioned for the highly anticipated movie adaptation of a very popular novel - one that was quite risqué in nature and, as such, required a theme song that fit the mood. Alice was no stranger to sexier songs. She'd written a number of those along the way, both for herself and other artists. However, what truly set this one apart from her personal body of work was the music video, more specifically, her wardrobe in it.

While all the ‘real action’ was intercut sequences from the trailer with the actors, the entire setting of it was still a luxurious bedroom. And she’d been dressed in a number of silk and lace getups that had the entertainment world and beyond discussing and analyzing the music video at length. As a marketing strategy, it was a huge success. Both for the movie and the lingerie brands involved. As to her reputation, there was no avoiding unsavory comments, but her fanbase was fully supportive of it, and sales showed the exposure to the movie industry was bringing in new fans as well.

Of course, she’d discussed it with Tobio well before accepting the job. She knew he wouldn’t stop her from taking such a huge opportunity, but him respecting her decision to go through with it did not mean he had to be happy about it. Everything she had a choice on took into account both her own comfort and his. Her outfits were all elegant and sensual. And she only realized that they were reflections of his taste just as much as hers when she watched the final cut.

The first time she saw him again after the music video had premiered was at the gym. Alice had just gotten back into town and headed straight there. The Adlers themselves greeted her warmly, the ones she was closest to daring to make a teasing joke or two. But every now and then she noticed a staffer or someone else who’d come to watch them practice stealing glances at her. And Tobio noticed too, if him growing steadily quieter was anything to go by. She knew he would be staying longer to get his frustrations out with serve practice, and stuck around too as the rest of the team headed out.

Knowing it was partially her fault, the singer gave him time to cool off, keeping a close eye so he wouldn’t end up exerting himself. “Baby...” She called out, soft and apologetic once almost an hour had gone by. “Let’s go home..?” Him not reaching out for another ball was a good sign, and as he walked back towards his things, she offered him a water bottle and a towel, which he accepted in silence and she took as a positive sign. “I’ll wait for you outside so you can shower in peace-” Before she knew it, she was being tugged into the locker room and pressed against the wall, strong arms on either side of her and stunning blue eyes staring down into hers.

His name was right on the tip of her tongue, but the intensity of his gaze stole her breath away. Usually, Tobio made the effort to diminish the glaring height difference between them, but right then he was looming well above her, making her feel trapped in the most exhilarating way. His hands sunk on her waist almost desperately, his stare washing over her form, and it was only then that she realized he had also been restraining himself all this time. Maybe he wasn’t so much upset that other people had been looking at her, but rather that they couldn’t immediately reaffirm their closeness.

Smiling, she placed her smaller hands atop his and guided them under her shirt, sighing when he promptly caressed up her bare skin. “I’m all yours, baby...” Something seemed to snap inside him at that simple show of permission, and suddenly his hands were gripping her hips in the way that made her squirm, hoisting her up so he could fit himself between her legs.

Alice couldn’t help whimpering when feeling him already hard and throbbing, lips parting to take in a sharp breath when he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin of her neck with every intention of leaving marks. Biting her lower lip to keep herself from chuckling, she figured that perhaps he was a little bit upset after all. As they rocked against each other and shared in wanton, sloppy kisses, Tobio had her wet for him in no time. Yet he continued to just rub his thick length to her center, which, in hindsight, should have raised a flag, but she was just as needy for him and simply reached a hand between them herself to push his shorts and underwear down and free his cock.

Whining impatiently as he still wasn’t inside her, Alice angled his tip to her entrance and tugged the soaked lace of her panties aside. She was about to start pulling him closer with her legs when he slid home in one go. Clamping a hand over her mouth to keep herself from loudly crying out as she threw her head back, she took a few long seconds to regain her bearings after nearly cumming from a single, deliciously deep thrust. Hazy green eyes fluttered open again and found him staring at her, standing absolutely still even if sheathed inside her.

Her brows furrowed, hips squirming, trying to get him to move but to no avail. “Tobio..!” She moaned in complaint, only to gasp sharply as he pulled away and rammed himself right back in with another single hard thrust. Hearing that whispered order right by her ear had her tightening around him to the point of making him groan. Alice was nothing if not obedient, hips never stopping their desperate grind against his as she openly begged. “Mmm, fuck me..! Please~ fuck me hard. And deep.” Guiding him into a hungry kiss, she moaned into his mouth when he immediately complied, pounding into her again and again. “I’m so close, baby..! Can I please cum around your cock~?”

#setternine #;Kageyama #[ smut ]#like a writing desk #- HMM I WONDER WHY IT TAKES ME SO LONG TO REPLY TO ASKS #- STARES AT THE FIVE PARAS OF SETUP SKDJFJKSFHKSHFD #- but i can't help it AHHH #- setting the scene is fuuun! and i needs it precious!#- also this was partially inspired by the concussion thread where he was like 'hmm we should come by this room again'#- but then things took a turn and the locker room was just an easier target skdjfhksjdf #- and yknow~ tobio has a thing for wall sex so there we go~#- also alice was dressed like taylor swift in her victoria secret shows #- in the music video #- the pink silky outfit and the black lacy one bc those are top #- totally the vibe for the music video #nsfw;text #long post

6 notes · View notes